White Snow: Resurgence
by Vhetin1138
Summary: The fourth installment of Year 2. Vhetin and Jay investigate the disappearance of an Imperial space station's crew, believing it to be a front for the villainous Project Whiteclaw. But the project has become far more dangerous than they originally believed... Rated T for violence and language.
1. Regrets

**Personal Log of Dr. Kenneth Torch, Former Senior Researcher of Project Whiteclaw**

They say only the dead know true peace. I used to disagree. I used to think that peace could be won by living beings. That stout hearts and courageous men and women could secure peace and security for more than just the dead. I used to think that it was my duty, both as a living being and a scientist, to further that goal.

Yet as the years wear on, peace continues to be an elusive target. The Republic tried to bring peace, but only managed to tear the world apart in a galaxy-wide war that threatened to consume everything. The Jedi claimed to fight for peace but ultimately succeeded only in hastening their own destruction.

The Empire claims to have brought peace now. The Emperor and his minions proclaim that a great golden age is upon us and that their iron fist brings about a peaceful and stable galaxy. But the longer I live, the more I begin to think otherwise.

When I was assigned to Project Whiteclaw, seemingly an eternity ago, I was so proud. Finally I was being put to work on something big! Something that would _matter_! Something that would help bring true peace, once and for all, to a largely lawless and unjust galaxy.

The aims of Project Whiteclaw were simple: research the effects of cross-species gene splicing in order to amplify the human potential. Only near-human races were studied of course; Kiffar, Echani, Zeltron, and Arkanians were among the more promising subjects. These species were similar to us in almost every way, yet possessed powerful abilities far beyond those of normal humans. Whiteclaw was meant to harness these abilities and use them for ourselves.

The result was to be incredible. Imagine an army of stormtroopers with the reflexes of Echani warriors, or Inquisitors with the psychometric abilities of the Kiffar. Imperial agents with Zeltron DNA could have used pheromone-assisted persuasion to break down even the most stubborn terrorist suspect, and Special Forces troopers could have used Arkanian heat vision to see in the dark.

With such tools at our disposal, the Empire could bring true peace and could more effectively protect those under its protection. Gone would be the days of raids and stormtrooper patrols unjustly targeting nonhumans or innocents. Gone would be the need for Inquisitors or Shadow Guards, those mysterious hunters tasked with sniffing out traitors or fugitives by any means necessary.

With Project Whiteclaw, the Empire would be transformed into a powerful bastion of efficiency, where humans would no longer live in fear of their superior nonhuman counterparts and could instead stand _with_ them, shoulder to shoulder, for the good of all. Whiteclaw sought to push human evolution into a glorious new era where humanity would be brush the threshold of utter biological perfection. In such a state, galactic peace would be within our grasp.

But science, of course, is more complicated. One cannot simply splice genetic strands together and expect superhuman abilities. Indeed, those first days of the project were met with failure after failure. The first test subjects were killed almost instantly during gene therapy treatments. They were willing recruits, the best the Empire had to offer, and they dropped like flies when the injections began. We solved the problem and moved on to the next problem, each time inching closer and closer to our target.

The years wore on. The list of potential genetic donors grew slimmer. Arkanian DNA melding caused violent deformations of the skin and skeleton and subjects were often killed by their own internal organs rupturing. Echani DNA caused instantaneous neuronal degradation and electrical overload in the brain. Zeltron DNA bonding was successful, but no changes in human physiology were noted besides a slight reddening of skin pigment.

Obviously these species would not work. Of the original list of over one hundred potential candidates, soon only a handful remained. And of that handful, only the Kiffar were the most promising.

The Kiffar are almost identical to humans in both a physiological and genetic sense. If not for their cultural practice of facial tattooing, most would be indistinguishable from us. Yet a rare few – about one in every hundred Kiffar subjects – possesses an incredible ability: psychometry, or the ability to read the memories of inanimate objects via touch.

Subsequent research yielded further results: a subspecies of the pureblood Kiffar known as the Salpatians. Salpatians were nearly identical to their pureblood counterparts, but thousands of years of evolution and mutation produced truly remarkable specimens. Salpatian Kiffar were stronger, faster, and often smarter than the average being.

They weren't superhuman like the Empire wanted. But they were close enough.

Unfortunately, the Salpatians suffered from a single evolutionary flaw: chromosomal mutations over millennia meant the subspecies could not successfully reproduce with anyone but their own dwindling race. Their population had started to shrink around the time of the Mandalorian Wars due to conflicts, genocides, and their own biological deficiencies.

By the time the Empire discovered them they were nearly extinct. Those that survived had long ago blended into general Kiffar society, hiding their genetic gifts and further damaging their chances of survival by trying — and failing — to breed with the pureblood race.

The prospects of the Whiteclaw Project seemed grim. What had once seemed like a glorious leap of technology and evolution began to be seen as a flight of fancy or the realm of science fiction. Many Whiteclaw researchers were reassigned. Others, frustrated at the lack of progress, resigned from the project.

Then, the unthinkable happened.

A Salpatian Kiffar walked right into the Empire's grasp. Cin Vhetin, a young Mandalorian convert barely out of infancy, was recruited into the Imperial military. This young man was a precious Salpatian Kiffar and the first viable test subject in almost twenty years of study. His genetic code, we were sure, held the key to our research.

We believed his appearance a sign of our imminent success. With his consent we could continue our research and _finally_ complete our mission. All the remaining researchers were giddy with anticipation at the findings that now lay before them. I remember those days fondly; laughing, joking, pouring over research notes with colleagues. How giddily naive we all were.

But, unknown to any of the researchers, the Whiteclaw Project had changed.

Previous test subjects were volunteers. Soldiers and smugglers, mercenaries and everyday citizens were approached with offers to join the Whiteclaw project in return for solid compensation and a chance at changing history. And while certain individuals – usually Echani – were less than cooperative, the project never had any lack of recruits.

But as the years wore on, the Emperor had grown tired of the constant delays and failures. The days of working cooperatively with our patients were over. They would now submit to testing by choice or by force. There was no third option. Testing would begin on the Salpatian Kiffar subject immediately, without his knowledge.

But we underestimated ourselves and the secrecy of our project. When our Primary Subject, Cin Vhetin, realized what we were doing with his medical samples, he resisted. Violently. He killed half a battalion of stormtroopers during his escape and vanished into the stars.

The Emperor was… displeased. He sent his favored servant, Lord Vader, to personally oversee the continuation of the project. When he learned of the Primary's escape, he sent some of his best bounty hunters to track the young man down. More violence ensued, both within and without the project.

If I had known what Whiteclaw would become, I would have turned in my labcoat then and there. But by the time I realized the true nature of our deeds it was far too late to leave. And with Lord Vader hovering over us… well, none of us were particularly eager to displease him. Our necks were very literally on the line.

The research grew more invasive. Patients were no longer willing recruits but prisoners, kept in a massive underground prison facility on the planet Quorbus. And though the Kiffar DNA reacted violently when merged with the human genetic code, our research continued.

We were no longer making supermen. We were making monsters. The gene therapy process twisted our subjects' minds, driving them into violent insanity. Genetic degradation led to lesions, boils, and bruises. Teeth and fingernails fell out. Eyes became bloodshot. Normal human behavior degraded until these "patients" became little more than animals.

We knew the genetic code of the Primary held the key, and the Empire was desperate to find him. After much bloodshed, he was eventually captured and forced into Whiteclaw custody once more. His body was harnessed for the "good of the project," used as a breeding ground for genetic carriers that would spread his DNA to other subjects.

My shame at this stage of the project was – and continues to be – all-consuming. I never agreed to mutilate the bodies of innocent men to breed our hellish serums. I never agreed to willingly destroy the mind in the hopes that we could somehow overcome natural evolution.

Needless to say, the Primary was not within our grasp for long. But the damage caused by his escape was astonishing. A small contingent of men and women – the Primary's compatriots – infiltrated the research facility and freed him. Hundreds of Whiteclaw personnel were killed. The facility was destroyed. The project teetered on the brink of complete failure.

But the Empire always has contingency plans in place, and Project Whiteclaw was no different. Far too late we learned that genetic superiority was only one possible goal of our research. If such an outcome was impossible or too difficult to achieve, Whiteclaw would fall under its top-secret secondary orders.

Thus the Blackwing Project was born, with the mission to use our standing research to drastically improve current methods of viral warfare. Research into genetic bonding and physiological mutation became casualty reports. Willing volunteers, eagerly hoping to become supersoldiers, became terrified prisoners yearning for the mercy of death. Rather than improving the living being, our aim was now to more efficiently destroy it.

This is where we stand now. We began as determined and motivated scientists and became executioners and perverters of the natural world. This is the truth of Imperial peace; those who do not conform are doomed to imprisonment or death. Now I am as much a prisoner as those we subject to testing. And as our research descends further and further into the obscene, I am terrified for what the future of this project holds. Of what we will inadvertently birth on an unsuspecting galaxy.

They say that only the dead know true peace. But I fear the Blackwing Project will soon take even that.

My name is Dr. Kenneth Torch. Should these logs one day fall into the hands of a sympathetic mind, I wish for only one thing to be known above all else: I am eternally ashamed of the part I played in the creation of this dreadful project. History will not forgive me. I hope you can.

May the Force be with us all.


	2. Back to Work

**Torbyn V**

Dust, smoke, and airborne debris clogged the air, stifling the sky with dark streams of smoky smog that twisted and morphed into the clouds as fires raged far below. The streets were filled with screams, blaster shots, and a single angry voice shouting over a vocal amplifier.

" _Citizens!_ _"_ the voice shouted over the din. Something exploded in the distance, sending a pillar of brilliant fire arcing into the air. The amplifier fizzled with a sputter of static before the voice returned. " _Citizens! Return to your homes! Rioters will be detained!_ _"_

Cin Vhetin, from his vantage point on the second floor of a bombed-out apartment building, scrutinized the street below with narrowed eyes. His HUD scanned the area, picking out probable targets and providing him with a current threat response. It currently read _Very High._

He shook his head as throngs of rioting gangs rampaged through the streets below. The mob was steadily making its way through Torbyn V's capital, approaching the command post set up in the city center.

"Dala can shout all he wants," he muttered, tucking his rifle more securely against his shoulder. "It's not going to get these people to go home. Rebels are stubborn that way."

Janada, flanking the window across from him, shot him a wry smirk. "That just means all the more fun for us."

" _Return to your homes! Anyone left rioting will be subject to arrest and detainment!_ "

He tucked his rifle tight against his shoulder, preparing for an inevitable fight. The rioters down below had been growing more and more agitated with each passing minute, spurred on by a lack of resistance to their march. Even now, they were throwing explosive cocktails of chemicals, overturning speeders, and smashing out windows as they passed. Looters followed the riot like scavenger hounds following a larger pack of kalo wolves back on Mandalore. The rioters were chanting something as they passed his vantage point, but he had nether the time nor the interest to listen.

He ducked away from the wall and headed downstairs, prepping for a quick departure. His saber pike, which was leaning against the wall, was quickly scooped up and clipped against his jetpack. Janada was right on his heels, hand resting casually on her holstered pistol.

Verdo Canveri, Janada's boyfriend, was standing guard near a large picture window on the first floor. A crate of tibanna cartridges was open at his feet and he was currently restocking on ammo while he had the chance. The black-haired man looked battle-worn and haggard, but Vhetin didn't think it was due to the imminent battle; Verdo always looked tired, most likely a side-effect of being Janada's boyfriend.

"Things are getting hot out there," the man said, glancing back out the window. He had his rifle resting casually across his lap in a steady, battle-ready position while he fed a fresh magazine of gas accelerant into the housing. "I forgot how much I hate pulling patrols as a riot trooper."

"Well get ready for your least favorite part yet," Vhetin said. "You heard Dala's amplifier. They're at two strikes."

"I almost feel bad for these guys. Mandalorian Protectors seem like overkill to put down a simple riot."

"You know the deal," Vhetin reminded him. "This riot was incited by terrorists hiding out in the city. Well-funded, well-trained terrorists. The riots are just a cover."

"Besides, they brought this on themselves," Janada said, drawing her weapon and checking the sight. She scooped up a few extra gas cartridges from the box at her boyfriend's feet. "And we don't question our orders. Employer says to put down a riot, we put down a riot."

"Even if that employer is the Empire? I would have thought you of all people would have problems with that, Cin."

"The Empire's just a government," Vhetin said. He leaned against the wall near the door and racked back the charging rod of his rifle. The weapon spun up with a satisfying whine. "And my personal feelings about it can be set aside if there's good that needs to be done."

"And killing people to put down a riot counts as good?"

"Keeping the peace," Vhetin corrected. He gestured to the outside, where they could still hear sounds of screams and explosions. "If working with the Empire keeps these terrorists from putting their plans in motion and killing more people in the process, then forcefully ending a riot is a small price to pay."

Janada punched her boyfriend's shoulder with a reassuring grin. "What's wrong? Worried your aim's faltered after so long on the homefront?"

He shot her a weary smile and pulled his green-black helmet over his head. "Just pre-battle nerves, I'm sure. I'll still go toe-to-toe with you any day, _cyar_ _'ika_."

"Then bring it on," she replied with a grin. "First to ten wins."

"Settle down you two. This isn't a competition."

Janada shot her little brother a rude hand gesture, spinning her pistol absently in her other hand. Vhetin was about to say more when the amplified voice rang out through the streets again.

" _This is your final warning,_ _"_ Dala's gravelly voice echoed. " _Return to your homes, or we_ _'ll be forced to use more intense methods."_

From the shouts and chanting outside, it sounded like the rioters didn't care. The explosions and crashes continued, louder and more raucous than ever, and a crash from upstairs suggested someone had thrown a brick through the top-story window.

"Strike three," Janada said. She glanced out over Verdo's shoulder. "They've gone and done it now."

As if on cue, their shared TeamCOMM channel suddenly popped and hissed. The transmission quickly stabilized and a gravelly snarl of a voice filtered through to them over the din of shouts and explosions outside.

" _All Protectors,_ " the voice said, _"this is Tobbi Dala. Be advised, our local contacts have identified twenty-three terrorists hiding out in the crowd. All are armed and all are armored with blaster-resistant materials. Due to the destructive nature of the protest, we now have authorization to engage with lethal force. Confirm."_

A chorus of radio clicks, grunts, and affirmations signified that the assembled Protectors had heard and understood his order. Satisfied that his message had gone through, the Protector leader continued, " _Keep in mind that this is a very public event. Maintain trigger discipline and take out the terrorists and the terrorists only. We don_ _'t want the HoloNet to light up with vids of Mandos gunning down civilians. They may be blowing up shit left and right, but they aren't our targets. Confirm."_

More clicks, grunts, and affirmations.

" _All right. On my mark,_ _"_ the grizzled commander called, " _prep for hard contact. These_ aruetiise _aren_ _'t going to give up without a fight. Air support is inbound, so if you get into trouble make sure to keep your head down and wait for reinforcements. No Mando dies on this operation. That's an order."_

Verdo and Janada moved away from the window and joined Vhetin in flanking the door. They would have only seconds before the street devolved into a full-out battle. Vhetin could hear his heart pounding in his chest, thumping uncomfortably against the hard planes of his armor. Whoever said warriors greeted battle with open arms was a fool; these tense few seconds before a fight were some of the most terrifying moments any Mando experienced.

"There are only three times a Mando is allowed to piss himself," the old saying went. "When he shames his family, when his first child is born, and when he's about to go into battle. And all because he'll soon have more important things to do than piss."

Right now, as he listened to the jeering and detonations of explosive chemical cocktails outside, he could believe it. He would indeed have far more important things to do in the next few moments. He clenched his teeth and let out a long breath, imagining the tension flowing down and out of his arms in a gentle flood. It was supposed to help such nerves and steady his aim. If it worked, he wasn't able to feel it.

" _On my mark_ , vode _,_ _"_ Dala commanded over comms.

"Run fast," Janada wished her brother, holding her fist out. "And shoot straight."

Vhetin reached out and tapped his fist against hers. " _Oya, vod_."

After giving Verdo a good-luck _kov_ _'nyn_ kiss, she turned to the door and pulled a breach charge from her belt. A single tapped button and the status light began to blink, ready for quick activation. Dala came back a second later.

" _Protectors, the light is green_. _You have permission to engage._ "

Janada didn't need any further encouragement. She slapped the breach charge against the door and quickly turned away to shield herself from the blast. Vhetin did as well, squeezing his eyes shut a split-second before the charge detonated.

 _BOOM!_

With a flash of light and a roar of sound, the door burst outward, propelled on a cloud of fire and debris and crashing to the ground. Dust swarmed into the building, clouding his vision for a split-second before his HUD scanners lit up and cut through the fog of debris. He could hear similar detonations up and down the street as the embedded Protector teams got to work.

He had time to think, _These terrorists won_ _'t know what hit them_.

Then he charged through the door and into the fight. Janada and Verdo were right on his heels, weapons raised and shouting for the nearest protesters to get on their knees. He could see other Protectors up and down the street streaming into the fight, firing their weapons into the air and shouting. Some carried stun batons, while others hefted spear-length electroshock prongs or canisters of _janad_ _'vhipir_ riot spray.

It took only moments for the riot to devolve into pandemonium. Rioters scattered in all directions, screaming and flailing at the sudden attack. A select few of them drew weapons and immediately opened fire on the attackers. The surprise had worked to the Protectors' advantage, as planned; the terrorists reacted instinctively to the threat rather than running and hiding like the rest of the unsuspecting mob. The "innocent" rioters, frightened by the commotion and the sudden resistance, broke and ran with barely any fight.

Vhetin's HUD quickly picked out hostile contacts, verified by reports from Imperial Intelligence forces in the area. They were scattered throughout the rioting crowd, nearly lost amidst the throng of humans and aliens that made up the protest. But his helmet scanners picked them out, highlighting their silhouettes in bright red.

"Time to get to work." Janada said. Her pistol came up and fired three times. His rifle snapped up right behind her. He took the lead, using a combination of HUD information and his sister's sharp eye to fire on enemies. She was right behind him, snapping off precisely-aimed shots with her heavily-modified field pistol. Verdo was just behind her, covering their six with his rifle. Blaster fire lit up the world around them and a few lucky bolts popped against their armor. The bolts staggered them, but didn't stop the advance.

Rioters ran in every direction, shoving and trampling each other in their haste to flee the scene of the attack. Many pushed and bumped into Vhetin and the rest of the small strike team as they fled, but it would take more than a civilian in plainclothes to uproot a Mandalorian's balance. One overzealous rioter, still amped up on adrenaline and fear, tried to race forward and punch him in the face. Janada leveled him with a stun round to the gut and knocked him unconscious with a quick punch to the center of his forehead. Vhetin fought on.

He forged through the crowd, firing blaster bolts into the sky to clear his line of fire. Rioters ducked and scattered at the noise, desperate to flee from the sudden battlefield. The retreat left many of the terrorists standing alone in the demolished street, scrambling for cover as they were penned in from all sides.

Janada shoved a screaming human out of her way and fired at a hostile target over the woman's shoulder. The woman shrieked at the noise and scrambled away into the blasted-out house they had just left. Janada's true target ducked away from the shots and sprinted down the street, out of blaster range.

A nearby terrorist infiltrator – an angry-looking Nikto hefting a blaster in one hand and a vibroblade in the other – sprinted the opposite direction and opened fire as soon as he was near enough. Vhetin instantly advanced on him, his kama billowing out around him as the muggy breeze caught it. His first two shots purposefully missed, popping hard against the cracked duracrete at the alien's clawed feet; their mission, after all, was to arrest the terrorists if possible.

"On your knees!" he shouted. "Hands behind your head! _Now!_ _"_

The Nikto didn't stop, instead racing forward with a warbling, otherworldly battle cry. Janada efficiently dropped him with a bolt to the knee before he could get too close. The alien howled and toppled to the ground, where Vhetin planted a boot in his back and cuffed his hands.

He'd barely stood again when a flurry of blaster bolts ricocheted against his helmet and sent him staggering. The concussive jolt of multiple shots sent him staggering, clutching at his suddenly burning chest. It was like being hit full in the torso by a runaway bantha; the Mandalorian iron stopped the bolts from killing, but it sure didn't stop them from hurting.

"Down!"

Janada shouted, her voice muffled under a wash of distracted pain. Vhetin looked up through streaming eyes to see a bulky human man standing atop an overturned speeder. Strapped across his chest was a hefty, Clone Wars-era blaster quad-cannon.

 _Shit,_ he had time to think. _Oh shit!_

The man let out a roar and opened up with the quad-cannon. The world was consumed by the sudden staccato _ping ping ping_ of the weapon as it unloaded almost thirty bolts per second, all aimed in their direction. Blue-white laser fire chewed the duracrete at Vhetin's feet. Before he could move to dodge the attack, Janada grabbed him by the back of his armored collar and yanked him t safety behind a nearby speeder. They both crashed to the ground and listened to blaster fire ping off the metal mere inches from their heads.

"Damn it!" Vhetin gasped, still clutching at his chest. "They almost had me there. Thanks for that."

Janada punched his shoulder plate in acknowledgment but said nothing. She instead focused on returning fire and ensuring the man with the giant cannon didn't outflank them.

 _I almost wish Jay_ _'s friend D'harhan could be here_ , Vhetin found himself thinking. His breathing was slowly returning to normal, the fire beginning to ease in his aching chest. _We could use a gun as big as his right about now. Which reminds me_ _…_

He wasted no further time dawdling, instead dialing out a comm code as he scrambled back to his hands and knees. He pressed his back against the speeder and shouldered his rifle as he waited. Janada knelt next to him and fired off a few stray shots at their attacker. The stream of quad-cannon shots didn't cease.

This is callsign Grayscale," he called over the comm, "calling for Phoenix-Actual. Do you copy?"

There was a hiss of static. Then Jay's voice responded, calm and composed despite the chaos of battle that surrounded him. " _Grayscale, this is Phoenix, reading you five-by-five. What can I do for you?_ _"_

"We're pinned down toward the rear of the combat zone," he said. "We've got an _aruetii_ daredevil with a quad-cannon making our life difficult. Transmitting coordinates. Care to help out?"

" _Already on my way, Grayscale. Sit tight. The cavalry is coming_."

" _Vor entye, vod_." Vhetin cut off the comm and took up position next to Janada and Verdo. Quad-cannon man was still firing merrily away, carving chunks away from their cover. A panel near Vhetin's head exploded in a shower of sparks and began leaking coolant fluid. Janada fired back again and again, but her bolts were absorbed by the man's blaster resistant armor padding.

The woman cursed and punched the speeder so hard it left a dent. "Kriff this! Someone get a frag out there to get this guy off our backs!"

A few stray shots of blue-white fire clipped Verdo's shoulder and sent him sprawling onto his back with a pained grunt. He quickly fought back to his feet and fired off a return volley. His arm was bleeding but he looked otherwise unharmed.

"We can't risk using heavy ordinance against this guy," the green-armored man called over the din, ignoring his wound. "Not without hitting other civilians."

"Jay's on her way to help." Vhetin punched his sister's arm to get her attention. "Trion gas?"

She nodded. "Trion gas."

They each pulled a pair of cylindrical silver-white grenades from their belts. With a twist of the cap and the press of a button, they hurled the grenades over their cover and into the street. The twin tubes bounced a few times, then popped and began to spew thick green-gray smoke up into the street.

The few rioters that remained quickly fell to their knees and began coughing, clutching their throats, and gagging. They wouldn't die – trion gas was a paralysis agent, not poison – but they would definitely be out of the picture for quite some time.

But quad-cannon man was apparently prepared for anything. As the Trion grenades still bounced across the ground, he reached behind his back and produced a rebreather unit. Once it was hooked over his mouth and nose, he was effectively impervious to the noxious smoke that surrounded him.

Janada's cursing could now be heard over the roar of the cannon. She threw the terrorist soldier a rude hand gesture, then ducked down behind their now-flaming speeder as a hail of blaster fire ripped through the air above her.

"How long are you going to take, Jay?" she hissed over the comm, sounding breathless. She shook her head and rested back against the battered speeder. The back of her helmet hit the metal with a dull _thunk._ "Come on, girl, punctuality is a good quality in a bounty hunter."

" _So is patience_ ," the other woman replied. " _Hold on to your ass plates. I_ _'m coming in hot."_

"They're called _shebs gaid_ _'e,_ " Janada corrected, "not _ass plates_."

"And just what does _shebs gaid_ _'e_ mean?" Verdo inquired. His rifle kicked as he sent a fresh volley of fire down-field at the man with the cannon.

His girlfriend was silent for a moment. Then, with a mutter so low it could barely be heard over the din of battle, she growled, "It means ass plates…"

Verdo laughed, then quickly cursed and ducked back behind cover. Blaster bolts whistled through the air he had occupied only moments before.

Vhetin snapped off three shots that popped harmlessly against quad-cannon man's armor padding. The man hopped off his speeder and stomped toward them, flanked by two other armed terrorists with rebreathers. They sprinted through the fog with weapons raised, opening fire at the wrecked car providing cover to the three Mandalorians. Any other nearby Protectors that came to help were quickly forced back by quad-cannon man's superior firepower.

"We have to move," Verdo called, reloading his blaster. "This speeder won't take much more abuse, and we don't want to be here when it goes up in flames."

"On three?"

Vhetin listened to blaster fire chip away at the metal behind their heads with loud _pings_ and _pows_. He doubted they had much time. Janada obviously thought the same, as she quickly shook her head and said, "Let's just go. No time to waste."

"Now?"

A grenade bounced over the edge of the damaged speeder and rolled to a halt between them.

Janada scrambled to her feet. "Now!"

Vhetin fell back, providing covering fire for the other two. Janada took off first, her blue-black cape flowing out around her. Verdo was right behind her. Only seconds after clearing their cover, the grenade exploded and peppered their backs with superheated chips of the duracrete road.

 _BOOM!_

Their retreat was fast, harried, and desperate. The shrieks and shouts of battle could be heard all around them and the terrorists were quickly closing ranks. It wouldn't be long before they found stable cover to fight from. If that happened, this would become an even nastier firefight than it already was.

As a group, the three Mandalorians vaulted over speeders and ducked behind street barriers. Blaster fire lit up the air and dug chunks out of the ground all around them. A few lucky shots ricocheted off of Vhetin's back, and he thanked _te Manda_ that he'd left his jetpack behind on this mission; they were notoriously fragile, and even a single stray blaster bolt could detonate the fuel tanks.

Quad-cannon man knew he held the advantage, as the Protectors couldn't use equally heavy weaponry to retaliate and small-arms fire was useless against his armor. He charged forward, firing at anything that moved. Unlucky rioters that remained were instantly cut down in the face of his charge and a select few Mandos were sent reeling under his torrent of fire.

Vhetin slid to cover behind a duracrete barrier and opened up with full-auto fire. The blaster bolts didn't hurt his assailant, but they did slow him down to a cautious walk. The slight distraction allowed Janada to leap to safety behind another nearby speeder. Verdo took up position behind the corner of a building, peeking out with his rifle raised to his T-visor.

"What's the status on our reinforcements?" Vhetin demanded through open comms.

Jay's voice returned, her tone laced with smug humor. He could almost imagine the smirk on her face. " _Ask and ye shall receive, little man. The streets are clear of civilians and we_ _'re starting our attack run."_

"Shriek-hawk Battalion is incoming," Verdo reported from his corner. "Now would be the time to cover your ears."

The words had barely left his helmet's vocoder when the roaring screech of TIE fighter engines drowned out the din of blaster fire and screams. Vhetin hazarded a glimpse outside his cover in time to see a cadre of the pod-like starfighters descend from the clouds and rocket down to street level.

The fighters didn't hesitate to open up with turbolaser fire on the terrorists standing below. Explosions rocked the streets as hostile forces were consumed in hails of green-white blaster fire. The Mandalorians – advised of the TIE's imminent arrival – fell back to protective zones where they would be spared from the rain of destruction from above. Many of the Protectors were content to sit back and watch their air support at work.

The Imperial fighters streaked through the air, their screeching engines drowning out all other sounds of battle below. With swift, almost unnaturally fast motions they zigzagged through the sky and picked off anyone on the street who dared to move; the rioters were long gone by now and only the terrorists remained to fight back. Turbolaser fire exploded in greenish fountains against the streets and a nearby building exploded under a torrent of fire, sending terrorists flying.

One of the TIEs broke off from the main group and raced low to the ground, opening fire at any gun-toting terrorist in view. The ship bucked and rolled in the air, pulling sharp maneuvers between the tight buildings as its lasers picked off hostiles left and right. As Vhetin watched, Quad-cannon man was consumed by flame as his speeder perch exploded with a concussive detonation. His body was thrown almost thirty feet back from the force of the explosion. When he landed, crashing into a heap of rubble, he didn't rise again.

" _Whoo-hoo!_ _"_ Jay's voice called over the comlink again. " _I forgot how much I kriffing_ love _these ships!_ _"_

The TIE peeled up high into the sky, rolling and arcing gracefully to avoid incoming fire. The slate-gray ship soared through the clouds with a high-pitched scream before pivoting around and diving down to street level again. It opened up with both ventral turbolasers and stitched the street below with emerald laser bolts. Hostiles all around Vhetin's position scattered for cover or fell where they stood, dead before they hit the ground.

Janada watched the TIE pilot work and let out a low, appreciative whistle. "You sold her short, Cin. That girl's got some serious skill."

"I told you that TIEs were her specialty," Vhetin replied. "She was an Interceptor pilot during her navy days, after all."

The TIE peeled off again, pulling up only meters above the duracrete pavement of the street. It righted itself and shot off to rejoin the others, the downdraft of its engines scattering debris and ash into the air as it screeched away down the street.

Vhetin's comm crackled and Jay reported, " _Your path is clear Grayscale. If you_ _'re gonna make a move, make it now."_

"Copy that," he nodded and gestured to the others. "You heard the woman. Move out!"

Without wasting a moment, he vaulted over his cover and sprinted into the open. His rifle snapped up and precise shots felled those few hostiles Jay had missed or left behind. Janada and Verdo were right behind him, matching him step-for-step and shot-for-shot. Janada's gun clicked empty and she quickly traded it for the arm-length _beskar_ longdaggers sheathed over her shoulders.

A skinny Rodian charged forward and brandished a wickedly curved vibrosword. Vhetin ducked as the humming weapon sliced over his head, giving Janada an opening to strike with. She sunk both _kad_ _'ikase_ into the alien's thigh and the terrorist fell with a spray of purple-black blood and a scream. Vhetin finished him off with a quick, clean shot to the chest.

Their advance continued. Vhetin dropped targets wherever they presented themselves, while Janada incapacitated them off with precise strikes from her longdaggers and Verdo watched their back. A burly Nikto warrior attempted to attack them from behind and was quickly consumed in a wash of fire from Verdo's gauntlet-mounted flamethrower. He fell to the ground writhing and screaming.

More terrorists tried to attack them while they were in the open, but the TIEs still swooping overhead kept them hunkered down and on the defensive. With air superiority and greater numbers on the ground, the Protectors were quickly pushing their opponents back. Vhetin could see Mandos on all sides, fighting and shooting at a quickly-dwindling force of terrorists.

Under the combined onslaught of Mandalorian Protectors and their TIE fighter reinforcements, the hostiles were finally beginning to throw down their weapons and raise their hands in surrender. They were almost immediately overwhelmed by throngs of Mandos who cuffed them and hauled them away for processing. Others simply turned and ran, and several multicolored squads of Protectors were quick to give chase.

 _We_ _'re almost done here_ , he thought. _They_ _'re falling back._

Something buzzed by overhead and Vhetin saw an orb-shaped holocam zooming around the street, no doubt recording the battle in all its pulse-pounding glory for the local news station. Janada saw it as well and shot it out of the sky with a quick bolt from her sidearm. It sparked and exploded, toppling to the ground in a rain of debris.

" _I saw that, Bralor_ ," Dala growled over their comm unit. " _Replacement fees are coming out of your cut of the reward._ _"_

She ducked the desperate swiping fist of a Twi'lek man that suddenly appeared to her left. She slashed both longdaggers down his chest and sent him staggering away, where Vhetin felled him with a ruthless punch to the back of the head. The alien was quickly stunned and cuffed.

"What can I say?" Janada replied as she stepped back, breathing hard. "I'm camera-shy."

Dala didn't laugh. He just switched to the team-wide comm and said, " _All units, be advised. Hostiles are in full retreat and we have Protector teams sweeping them up as we speak. Return to the rendezvous point. This battle is over._ _"_

A victorious roar rose from the ranks of assembled Mandalorians. The multicolored soldiers quickly ceased their attack, falling back toward the city center and the command post set up there. Their retreat was covered by a number of white-clad stormtroopers that rushed to reinforce them; with the real fighting done, the Empire was more than happy to step in and take over.

Vhetin took a deep breath and let his rifle fall to his side. Janada took one last look at the battle-scarred street, then wiped the blades of her daggers on her cape and returned them to the sheaths across her back. To the rear of their group, Verdo pulled his helmet off and shot them a weary grin.

"Now that," he said, wiping his sweaty forehead, "is one hell of a way to spend an afternoon."

* * *

 **Keldabe-Class Cruiser** ** _Hodayc_** **, Mobile Headquarters of the Mandalorian Protectors**

The atmosphere aboard the _Hodayc_ was nothing less than ecstatic, as post-battle parties always are. The main hangar bay – the usual gathering place for Protectors after deployment – was full of laughing, singing, and dancing. A trio of silver-armored men had begun a very loud and slightly inebriated round of _Dha Werda Verda_ , which had quickly drawn attention from across the bay. Several others were performing feats of strength, doing their best to lift heavy machinery or coolant coils above their heads. Further on a knot of bounty hunters were trading info back and forth, all watching a real-time HoloNet display of the galaxy's most wanted.

Fenn Shysa had passed through a little earlier, laughing and shaking hands with his men while an ever-stern Tobbi Dala stalked behind him like his vengeful shadow. The _Mand_ _'alor_ 's high spirits were well-deserved; while several Protectors had taken blaster shots or suffered some concussive damage from explosions, no Mando had died during the entire operation. That made the mission a success by anyone's standards.

Tobbi Dala had, of course, tried to rein in on the post-battle festivities, giving everyone a stern speech about the nature of honor and the necessary poise a warrior must show in the exhausted hours after a firefight. He reminded them, not unlike a parent lecturing a child, that the best victorious warriors stuck to a strict training regimen, ate well, and went to sleep early to prepare for the next inevitable fight. Only fools, he claimed, celebrated the victories of yesterday.

If that was true, then the _Hodayc_ was full of fools.

Vhetin watched the revelries unfold from a position high above, leaning against the railing on one of the maintenance catwalks for the docked MandalMotors starfighters. A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched the celebration. He'd never join himself, of course — he was far too reserved a person to dance and drink and shout along with all the rest — but that didn't mean he couldn't receive some pleasure from seeing his brothers and sisters so jubilant. It had been a long time since he'd had reason to smile.

He heard bootsteps on the grated catwalk, heading in his direction. Normally he'd have ignored it, standing impassive as a lost rookie or a MandalMotors technician passed him by. But the footsteps stopped near him and a soft, accented voice spoke, instantly drawing his attention.

"Hello there, Cin."

"Hey, Brianna." He turned and greeted his visitor with a smile he knew she couldn't see.

She smiled back and leaned against the railing next to him, joining him in his observation of the party far below. A few brave _aruetii_ auxiliaries, Jay among their number, had thrown their lot into the _Dha Werda Verda_ and were doing their best to dance along with their armored compatriots. Some were better than others, but most just laughed and clapped while the present Mandos beat the rhythm against their battle-scarred armor plating. Even from high above, the thrumming beat of the dance seemed to make the very walls shake.

Vhetin, without turning his head, scrutinized the woman standing next to him. A few bandages and a couple stitches in her left arm suggested she'd taken some hits during the battle, but she seemed to be otherwise unharmed. She didn't return his questioning gaze, instead watching as the ranks of the _Dha Werda Verda_ dancers swelled to almost twenty dancers. She smiled wider at the sight.

"Looks like they're having fun."

"They've earned it," he replied, returning to his earlier position. He folded his arms atop the railing and tilted his helmet down to watch. "It was a hectic fight down there."

"Clearly. I haven't seen a post-battle party this raucous since that deployment on Terrels Six."

"They have good reason to be happy," he pointed out. "We didn't have to dress up in that stifling green-red kit this time. Every _beroya_ down there just got a prime time spot on the HoloNet in their normal gear because of it. Publicity like that will do wonders for the local hunting business."

She glanced at him. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Any hunting contracts lined up once we get back?" She hesitated before adding, "Or are you still having trouble finding work?"

His expression darkened. "The contracts are coming back. Slowly. They're mostly small-time stuff for now. A bail jumper here, a pirate troupe there. Nothing too serious."

"Do you think you'll accept any of them?"

"Maybe. There's a reward for a renegade gangster on Taris that looks promising." He shrugged. "I'll run it by Jay and see if she's up for some gruntwork."

"Hey. Gruntwork is still work," she said, nudging his shoulder. "And once you show everyone that you're still every bit as capable as before, all the old contracts for homicidal maniacs will start flooding back."

He nodded slowly, a grim set to his jaw. "I hope you're right."

They lapsed into silence, watching the revelry below. The _Dha Werda Verda_ dancers had now grown to the point that they could no longer keep the rhythm of the dance. Someone missed a beat and accidentally punched his neighbor in the jaw. The recipient of the blow – a woman with a shaved head and dark tattoos around her eyes – responded in kind, and a fistfight broke out that completely derailed the dance. Spectators applauded at the outbreak of a fight and began cheering for their favored combatants. Within minutes, the _Dha Werda Verda_ had transformed instead into a Battle Circle.

"So…" Brianna hesitated, biting her lip as if debating whether to continue. She quickly cleared her throat and said, "How's Tamai?"

In a moment, all the old and familiar awkwardness between them sprang to life again. Vhetin stared down at his palms and shifted his weight from foot to foot, pretending to adjust his position to avoid answering right away. "She's… fine. Still plugging away at her counterterrorism training."

"She's not here, is she?"

"No. She stayed behind to watch after Rame's farm. The Handmaiden's keeping her company."

Brianna frowned. "Is that wise? The Handmaiden hates Mandalorians. And Tamai's not exactly over the moon about foreigners."

"I thought the same thing at first," he admitted. "But they got on pretty well when I introduced them. Before long they were laughing and swapping old war stories about Eshan and the Rangers."

She scoffed, tracing along the corrugated metal railing with the tip of her thumb. "I don't think I've ever heard the Handmaiden laugh."

"I was pretty shocked when I heard it too," he admitted with a small smile.

"So… how is everything? With Tamai, I mean." When Vhetin looked at her, she quickly glanced back to the view of the newly-formed Battle Circle, pretending to closely observe the chosen combatants dueling far below. A soft blush began crawling up her cheeks. "I-I mean, if it's not too inappropriate to ask."

"It's not," he said slowly. Cautiously. "Things are… things are good. Tamai's glad to be back in Keldabe, among friends. It's nice to catch up after so long."

"You two didn't part on the best of terms, if memory serves."

"The past is the past," he replied. "She got her payback and we've moved on. We were… surprisingly very adult about it all. After the punching and shouting stopped, of course."

"Good… that's good." She fell silent again, playing with the railing. She sucked in a quick breath, as if preparing herself, then said, "I'm happy for you."

He frowned at her. "You are?"

She nodded. "I'm glad you've found someone who makes you happy. You… you deserve it. And I'm glad I didn't screw you up so much you gave up on women completely."

He snorted. "You'd have to do a lot more to make me give up on women, Bri."

"Still…" she bit her lip again, then shrugged. "I'm just glad you've moved on. That we've both moved on. Maybe now we can put some of that awkwardness to rest and just… be friends?"

"Is this another apology?" he said, half-teasing. He looked at her through narrowed eyes. "If memory serves we've already said all we need to say on that matter."

"I just—" She was blushing hard now, almost the same shade of scarlet as Darth Vader's lightsaber. "I just don't want things to be awkward between us any more. I want things to go back to the way things were. When we were friends still and we didn't hate each other because of our relationship."

It was his turn to frown now. "Brianna, we both said and did a lot of things we probably regret now. And if we could go back, we'd probably both do a lot of things differently. But one thing would never change: I would never hate you for anything."

She glanced at him, then away again. "Y-you're sure?"

"Bri." He hesitated, then took a step closer to her. "You're my oldest friend. One of the first people I ever met after me… accident. You've been there with me since day one, and I haven't given up on you since that day. That kind of dedication doesn't just vanish, no matter how terrible we were at dating."

She laughed a little at that and her blush eased. It seemed as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Good. It's kept me up at night, you know. What you must think of me, after everything that's happened. _Ni ceta._ "

He reached over and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. " _Nu or_ _'parguur, vod'ika_. _Gar ijaat cinyc_."

It was an old _Mando_ _'a_ acceptance of an equally-old apology: _There is no hate, my friend. Your honor is clean._

She nodded in thanks. He removed his hand. Together, they returned to their perusal of the party below. The fight was still going strong, and several pragmatic Mandos had stepped up to start taking bets as to the victor. Several others — bounty hunters from the look of their gear — had set up a perimeter and were keeping a watchful eye in case Tobbi Dala returned to break up the fun.

After a few moments Brianna sighed and stepped away, heading further down the catwalk toward the stairs that would take her to the lower level. She patted his helmet dome as she passed, an old and familiar gesture he was very glad to receive again after so long an absence.

"Jay and I are setting up a night on the town once we get back to Keldabe," she said as she passed. "Janada and Verdo have already agreed to come, as well as Rame and Mia. We'll be expecting you and Tamai there too."

They both knew he wouldn't attend. But he still bowed his head and said, "I'll try my best."

With a final nod, she stepped down the stairs and disappeared from sight. Vhetin stared after her for a few moments before returning his gaze to the view far below. He felt a strange, unfamiliar warmth in the pit of his stomach at the interaction. His smile, so rare these days, grew even wider behind the shelter of his helmet.

It wasn't long before another voice interrupted his ruminations.

"You, little bro, need to be more careful."

He glanced over to find Janada, helmetless, occupying the space Brianna had just vacated. Unlike the Coruscanti woman, he hadn't heard his sister approach. He let out a short breath and cursed, " _Osik_ , Janada. What have I told you about sneaking up on me like that?"

She ignored him, inspecting her dirty fingernails with feigned nonchalance. "You're going to get yourself into trouble one of these days."

"What do you mean?"

Janada simply inclined her head in the direction Brianna had left, as if that explained everything. Then she drew one of her daggers and began scraping the muck and dirt from beneath her fingernails, still pretending to be the picture of casual disinterest. Vhetin narrowed his eyes at her behind his helmet faceplate, knowing she was anything but disinterested, and said, "How long were you spying on us?"

"Long enough," she replied. She cocked an eyebrow in his direction. "Long enough to get the gist of that speeder wreck of a conversation."

"Speeder wreck?" he echoed. "I thought it went well. We finally managed to have a civilized exchange without wanting to kill each other. I think that shows how mature we're both being."

"And that's exactly the problem," Janada pressed. "You're spoken for now, Cin. So don't go getting too chummy with your ex, lest our mutual blonde friend get jealous like she did _last_ time you two were together."

He frowned. "That's not going to happen."

"Really? Might want to pay better attention, then. Before Tamai decides she wants to punch you in the throat again."

He rubbed the aforementioned area at the memory of his less-than-tearful reunion with the Ranger in the forests. "Tamai's never really had a way with words when it comes to dealing with her exes. Funny, considering she's a musician."

Janada sighed and rested her hands on her hips. "Stop deflecting, Cin. You know what I'm talking about."

"I do," he replied. "And this might come as a surprise to you, but I'm not trying to rekindle what Bri and I had. It's over, and we've both moved on. We're both happy."

"Wrong," his sister interjected. She pointed at him with the blade of her dagger. " _You_ _'re_ happy. She's anything but."

He frowned. "What? How can you tell?"

"Come on, Stripes. You can't be _that_ thick. You two go for months on end guarding your post-breakup positions like kath hounds over a piece of meat. Then all of a sudden, she comes out of the blue and starts apologizing for what she did? Saying she wants to _go back to the way things were?_ That doesn't strike you as just a little bit odd?"

He stared at her, uncomprehending, and she let out an explosive, exasperated sigh.

" _Men_ ," she hissed with a roll of her eyes. She rapped her knuckles against Vhetin's helmet forehead. "Tell me there's something more rattling around in that bucket besides weapon specs and hunting tricks, little bro."

"If you've got something to say," he said, batting her hand away, "then just come out and say it. I don't appreciate you dancing around a subject like this."

"She _regrets_ leaving you. She's having second thoughts!"

He paused, glancing in the direction Brianna had just vacated. Then he quickly shook his head and said, "No. No, she doesn't have second thoughts about anything. She makes a decision and sticks to it, come hell or high water."

"That's why she's so uncomfortable with this," Janada insisted. "She doesn't like it, but she's trying to patch things up between you two."

He pondered over this, chewing at his lip and trying to find some way to prove her wrong. "Well…" he slowly said, "I can't exactly blame her. Snake's an asshole in Mando form. Maybe she's finally starting to wake up and see that."

"Maybe," his sister agreed. "But you need to be careful. You're with Tamai now, plain and simple. Don't let our fancy-pants Coruscanti girl go confusing you into doing something you'll regret."

"I don't cheat on my girlfriends," he said, his voice sharp and firm. "And I resent the implication that I would."

His sister sighed and shook her head, as if he'd missed the point completely. "I'm not _implying_ anything. You know me better than that. I just don't want to see you get hurt again."

"And why would that happen?"

Her next words were curt and blunt as always. "Because you still love her."

He blinked, his voice catching in his throat. He quickly shook his head, then wondered if he'd disagreed too quickly or too emphatically. He cursed himself with his thoughts, then stammered out, "That's… that's not true."

She raised a single, skeptical eyebrow, but didn't say anything. She didn't need to.

"It's not!" he insisted. "I've… moved on. So has she."

"You're bullshitting me and yourself." She cocked her head. "I don't know which is worse."

He cursed and turned away with a scowl. "You don't know what you're talking about. The day I start taking love advice from a glorified mechanic is the day I deserve to be locked up in an asylum."

"You watch your mouth." The dagger was leveled in his direction again. "I happen to be a great glorified mechanic."

He didn't laugh. Neither did she. Instead, she sighed and leaned her armored hip against the railing, folding her arms across her chest. She, too, began watching the Battle Circle down below. When she spoke again, her voice was calm and measured, intended to be as soothing and sincere as possible.

"Look," she said, "I'm not trying to nag you. I just want you to be careful. You're in a good place right now: you've got Blue determined to hold on to you and never let go, and Brianna's finally opening up again. I just want to make sure you don't make a mistake and accidentally lose them both."

He nodded, understanding her intention. He knew she only wanted what was best for him, like always. And it was true that when it came to matters of the heart, he wasn't the luckiest – or the smartest – man in the universe. So he sighed and reached out to clasp her arm in a traditional forearm-to-forearm Mando handshake.

" _Vor_ _'e, ori'vod_ ," he said. "I appreciate it."

She nodded with a small smirk. "I'm always there, Stripes. Watchin' your back when even you don't know it. Just think over what I've said. That's all I'm asking."

They lapsed into silence for a time, listening to the cheers and shouts from the fighting far below. But when Janada grew tired of speculating – which never took long – she glanced over at him and asked, "You wanna go get a drink?"

"Kriff yes," he replied.

* * *

 **Imperial-Class Star Destroyer** ** _Ember Hawk,_** **exact coordinates unknown**

The _Ember Hawk_ rumbled through the infinite black of Wild Space, its destination a mystery to even its own crew. The TIE fighter patrols that always preceded the city-sized triangular titan picked up nothing on short-range scanners: no planets, no ships, no asteroids. Nothing. In fact, no one aboard the _Ember Hawk_ knew what they were doing in this Force-forsaken arm of the Outer Rim. No one dared to question, either, considering the prominence and infamy of their passengers.

So when an Imperial space station melted into view in the dark between the stars on the fifth day of their slow voyage, shimmering and warping as the station-wide cloaking systems deactivated, the entire ship was abuzz with rumor. Where were they? What were they doing? Who knew about it all?

Of course, the only ones who truly knew were the pair of tall, skeletally-thin Inquisitors who stalked through the ship with all the regal authority afforded to them by their position as Darth Vader's personal war hounds. Their sickly-pale faces, complete with angular scarlet tattoos, struck fear into even the most hardened stormtrooper commander. No one had the bravery to stand up to them. Not even the ship's captain.

So when the space station – which strangely bore no name and transmitted no transponder signal – sent out a Y-shaped dropship to ferry passengers, Captain Dodenu decided it was time to set the record straight once and for all.

The transport docked easily with the Star Destroyer, settling into the spacious landing bay and folding its wings up as its engines spun down. The doors slid open with a hiss of depressurizing air and a squad of pristine white-clad stormtroopers disembarked, rifles held at the ready. Captain Dodenu was waiting, of course, with a full complement of the ship's trooper forces standing at attention behind him.

He expected some dignitary to disembark, or even perhaps another deathly-pale Inquisitor. But instead, one of the disembarking stormtroopers removed his helmet and stepped forward to greet him.

The man was young, maybe only in his thirties — a rarity considering the gravity of their mission here. His dark skin was marred only by a single livid white scar down his right temple, though his his warm brown eyes belied his battle-scarred ferocity. He approached the captain with a laid-back, sociable grin as he tucked his helmet under his arm.

"Pleasure to meet you sir," the trooper said. He held out a hand in greeting. "Sergeant Gattor Rigel, at your service."

Captain Dodenu was confused, unused to such casual treatment from a stormtrooper. He quickly gathered his composure, however, and straightened his pressed jacket. He pointedly did not shake the trooper's hand. "Greetings, Sergeant. To what do I owe this… pleasure?"

Sergeant Rigel jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the waiting shuttle. "The station is requesting that the _Ember Hawk_ prepare for personnel transfer. The brass is ready for inspection."

"Inspection?" Dodenu echoed. "I wasn't made aware of an inspection."

The sergeant's grin faltered a little bit, almost as if he was embarrassed. "It's my understanding, sir, that, uh… well, this is all a little above your pay grade. If you don't mind my saying so."

If Dodenu had been flustered before, he was quickly growing angry now. He took a step forward, doing his best to tower over the trooper. He puffed out his chest in his best impression of a powerful Moff and boomed, "Look here, Sergeant. I have spent the greater part of a week traveling at sublight speeds through uncharted space. I deserve to know why I've been called out to this godforsaken backwater of the galaxy."

To his credit, the sergeant didn't back down. He straightened to attention, his grin finally fading in place of a straight-faced military expression. "I believe, sir, that—"

" _You_ were not called to this location, Captain Dodenu. I was."

The captain's breath was wrenched from his chest in a short, pained exhale. All pretense of self-righteous anger and irritation vanished, and his face went pale as he heard heavy, thudding bootsteps on the durasteel floor behind him. The stormtrooper guard that flanked him on either side suddenly snapped to attention, their weapons hitting their shoulders with a collective _crack_ that made him jump and want to squeak in surprise. He turned, eyes fixed on the ground.

Standing behind him were boots, clad with reflective black armor. Dodenu slowly looked up, following the boots to find a ribbed black flight suit, a broad chest sporting a blinking control panel, wide shoulders upon which hung a flowing black cape, all topped by an angular midnight-black helmet and ridged mask known across the galaxy.

With a rasping breath, Darth Vader rested his large fists against his hips, spreading his cape and nearly doubling his size. His expressionless death's-head mask regarded the captain before him with a cold, dead detachment that sent a shiver down Dodenu's spine. He was flanked on either side by his stoic, pale-faced Inquisitors.

"L-lord Vader," Dodenu stammered. "I apologize for my impertinence. I only wished to understand why—"

"You forget your place, Captain," the Dark Lord interrupted. "Our presence in this sector is not your concern. You will be made aware of the situation if and only if I deem it necessary. Do you understand?"

"Of course, my lord."

"Good," Vader said with another raspy wheeze of breath. He surveyed the stormtroopers that had disembarked from the shuttle, his gaze eventually falling on Sergeant Rigel. The stormtrooper snapped to attention under Vader's hidden gaze.

"I trust appropriate decontamination measures were taken before your departure from the station?" the Dark Lord inquired.

Rigel nodded. "As always, my lord. Containment and safety procedures are, as always, our top priority."

"Good. Then let us proceed."

"Of course, my lord. If you will follow me." Rigel gestured to the shuttle and led Lord Vader away. Before the black-clad Imperial drew too far away, however, he turned on Captain Dodenu once more. He raised a single commanding finger and pointed at the captain's chest.

"Keep the _Ember Hawk_ at a distance from the station," he commanded. "Do not open communication channels and do not transmit the Star Destroyer's transponder. Do not fire the ship's engines unless absolutely necessary. I will send word when I am ready to return and depart."

"Yes, my lord."

Vader did not seem convinced. His masked gaze seemed to bore into the captain, until he wanted nothing more than to curl up on the floor and whimper in terror like a kicked dog.

"Our presence here must remain undetected, Captain. Do not fail me in this."

Dodenu gulped. "I-I won't, my lord."

Vader stared at him for a moment longer, then turned with a swirl of his billowing cape and disappeared up the ramp and into the shuttle. His Inquisitors were right on his heels, melting silently into the depths of the darkened ship. The stormtrooper squad brought up the rear, then the shuttle doors hissed shut and the ship lifted off with a jet of downdraft from its repulsor engines. Its wings folded down into a familiar inverted Y, then the ship roared off into space toward the distant space station and the secrets held within.

Once the shuttle was little more than a speck against the infinite black of interstellar space, Dodenu pulled his cap from his head and wiped his suddenly-sweaty forehead. He gestured for the assembled stormtroopers to return to their duties.

As he turned away to return to his post on the bridge, he sighed and thought, _What have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

Sergeant Gattor Rigel had met Darth Vader before. He had never actually spoken to the Dark Lord before today, of course, but that hardly mattered. One only had to be in the man's presence to sense his tremendous power. It radiated off of him like smoke from a fire, like the descending wall of an avalanche. The very air around him seemed to tremble beneath the weight of his terrible power. It was a disconcerting sensation to say the least.

So when the black-clad colossus strode aboard the research station with his usual commanding air, Gattor had to resist shivering in his armor. He wasn't afraid of Vader; if anything, he respected the armored man for his battle prowess and his relentless drive to keep the Empire safe and secure against potential threats. But at the same time, he was forced to acknowledge Vader's raw destructive power and the inherent threat he represented by his mere presence. Rumor had it he was fond of throttling insubordinate or useless underlings with nothing more than his mind. And though Gattor had been too young to fight in the Clone Wars, he still recognized the ridged silver-black cylinder that hung from the Dark Lord's belt.

So the usually casual, laid-back Sergeant Gattor Rigel made sure he was on his best behavior, his armor was polished to a healthy luster, and his weapon was charged and inspection-ready for Lord Vader's arrival. Now that the Emperor's servant was here in person, he wished he'd gone over polishing the scuffs on his helmet one more time, just to be safe.

Lord Vader was met by the full retinue of stormtrooper guards in the hangar bay of the station. The hangar wasn't anything overly special; it was cramped and crowded by supply crates and refueling tubes, the floor marked by blast burns from engine downdraft and the walls marred by patches of exposed durasteel beams and knots of power conduits. It was far from the pristine cleanliness and order of the Star Destroyer they had just left.

But if Vader noticed the clutter, he didn't comment on it. He stalked past the assembled lines of stormtroopers with his Inquisitors trailing after him, his gaze never once turning or regarding anything but the path ahead of him.

Waiting at the end of the hangar were the senior researchers, clad in their usual pristine white labcoats. Vader came to a halt in front of them and rested his hands over his belt. His rasping breath echoed through the hangar, the dim lights sending shimmering highlights over his polished black armor.

"Report."

The lead researcher, Dr. Kasiporo, bowed his head. "Lord Vader, may I be the first to state what an unparalleled honor it is to have you—"

Vader waved a single leather-gloved hand. "Dispense with the ceremony, Doctor. I am not interested in your honor. Only your findings."

"O-of course. Forgive me." The Twi'lek flinched, but didn't look too surprised at Vader's gruffness. He turned and gestured down the hall that led away from the hangar, deeper into the station. "If you would follow me, my lord."

Darth Vader moved to follow, his heavy bootsteps echoing up and down the cold, claustrophobic hall. Gattor made sure to keep to the back of the group, behind the Inquisitors, where he wouldn't be noticed. He'd kept below the sights of most Imperial bigwigs during his time here and he wasn't about to break that streak now.

"How is the research proceeding?" Vader rumbled.

"Slowly," Kasiporo replied, his lekku twitching with apprehension. He shied away from the black-clad figure at his side, as if convinced that the news had earned him an invisible throttling. "W-without the primary subject at our disposal, we've had to work from cloned tissue. The process is slow, and not too effective."

"Efficiency does not concern me, Doctor. I am only interested in the results."

Kasiporo's lekku twitched harder. "Our results… have not met with expected projections. Genetic fusion is still met with failure after failure."

"The shortcomings of Project Whiteclaw are well known to me," Vader said. "I am here to oversee progress on the subsequent Blackwing contingency."

"A-ah. The Blackwing contingency. Of course."

Sergeant Rigel could feel the tension in the air, as thick as the smoky ion burn of blaster fire. He knew Project Blackwing was a touchy subject – not to mention classified so far above his pay grade that he couldn't even count the number of promotions he'd need for access.

He was a grunt, a glorified security guard with a gun. It was his job to make sure everything on the station was calm and secure, and that none of the mysterious test subjects managed to see the light of day. It was a slow, boring job that the brass continually claimed was vital to the project's success. As a result, he didn't much care for the mysterious Project Blackwing. So long as the researchers kept their little science project locked up in the high-security wing of the station, he was a happy — if occasionally bored — man.

At the front of the group, Dr. Kasiporo was consulting with a handheld datapad. He tucked one lekku over his shoulder like a human with a lock of hair.

"Project Blackwing is proceeding steadily, though not quickly," he reported. His voice took on a calmer, almost proud tone. "The destructive potential of our serum is unparalleled, and transference from a fluid substance to an airborne, particle-based one has been a complete success."

Vader's masked gaze was fixed resolutely on the hallway in front of him. He didn't even stop to acknowledge the stormtroopers and other personnel they passed, who quickly saluted or bowed in his presence. "What potential transmission vectors have you managed to form?"

"Fluid transfer is still the most reliable method of infection. Once a singular subject has been infected with the virus, it can then transfer to subsequent subjects via hand-to-hand contact."

"Specifics, if you will."

"Bites or scratches," Kasiporo quickly clarified. He blushed to a darker shade of purple. "They are the most common form of viral transference, and compliment the infected subjects' behavior and aggression levels nicely. However, with the recent breakthrough into airborne communication, we can begin working on full weaponization."

"You mentioned that the airborne pathways are less effective?"

The head researcher nodded and shot the towering figure a nervous glance. "It appears to be an inherent flaw in the viral strain itself. A small number of test subjects appear to have a natural immunity and show no symptoms of infection from the airborne strain."

Vader's helmet turned the slightest bit toward him. "And the cause of this immunity?"

"Unknown. It seems to be completely random."

Vader said nothing.

"U-um, we have confirmed, however, that field testing of the virus would hypothetically lead to a ninety-five percent fatality rating. Even those few who display immunity would quickly be killed off by rampant infected subjects. This fatality rating can be applied to almost any size of population."

"And immunization efforts?"

"Quite simple, actually." The surprise in Kasiporo's voice was evident to everyone present. "A cure for the virus was actually one of our first breakthroughs. The only inherent problem is the virus' infection speed. If the cure is not supplied within the span of around, say, an hour or two, it is effectively useless. Even then, recovery is not a guarantee. The virus is… persistent."

"Good," Vader boomed. "The Emperor will be pleased."

Kasiporo bit his lip, obviously debating with whatever was about to come out of his purple-skinned mouth. When he eventually spoke, his voice was small and anxious. "I-if I may, my lord, what is the Emperor's interest in this project?"

Vader, surprisingly, answered him. "The Blackwing contingency is currently the most promising of all the Empire's viral weapons projects. With the destructive power of such a construct, the Empire could solidify control over the entirety of the galaxy."

"If I may, my lord," Kasiporo sounded as if he wanted nothing more than to shrink away and hide. But something – Gattor didn't know what – made the Twi'lek researcher continue talking against everyone's better judgment. "If I may, my lord, this virus is virulent enough to wipe out the population of entire _planets_. It was long ago given superweapon status, hence the need for our stealth-equipped research station. But what need does the Empire have for such power?"

"The Empire finds itself in need of more powerful motivating agents in the face of quickly-growing rebellion across the Outer Rim. There are other, cruder methods currently under development."

"Y-you refer to the Ultimate Weapon?"

Vader took a single, wheezing breath. "The Ultimate Weapon is a bludgeon masquerading as a scalpel. Moff Tarkin is a fool to believe it can bring order to the galaxy. Project Blackwing is an alternative. One I personally see as a much more promising avenue of research."

"It is an honor to have your full blessing, Lord Vader."

"Indeed." Vader's booming baritone inflection didn't change in response to the praise. "I believe a test of Blackwing's effectiveness is necessary. I trust you are prepared?"

"Of course, my lord. If you would just follow me."

Gattor moved to follow the group into the secure sector of the facility when his helmet-mounted comlink beeped. He paused, noting the high-priority code that accompanied it. He quickly stepped away from the group, triggering the comm channel and saying, "This is Sergent Rigel. State your business."

The voice that responded was tight and worried. " _Sergeant, this is Doctor Torch._ "

Gattor knew Dr. Torch well; he was one of the few approachable scientists assigned to Project Blackwing. That nurse of his was pretty easy on the eyes as well…

"Doc," he greeted. "How goes the battle?"

" _Not well. We_ _'ve had a security breach in Sector Seven."_

Gattor frowned behind his helmet. "The research wing? I'm sorry, Doc, but that's outside my jurisdiction. I don't have clearance for that part of the station. You know that."

" _I do. I_ _'m giving you clearance now_."

His HUD beeped and he saw that he had indeed just been approved for Red-Level security clearance. He now had free access to almost every section of the station. There were military generals who could not claim the same.

He frowned deeper. "Doc, what's going on? What's so important? And why do you need me of all people?"

There was a pause of static-filled silence over the comm. Then Torch replied, " _I find myself in need of assistance from an ally I can trust. You are one of the few I_ _'ve found."_

"Uh… thanks. I think."

" _I_ _'ll explain everything in due time, Sergeant. I promise. But for now, head directly to Sector Seven. Don't stop for anyone, not even Lord Vader. It's potentially a matter of life and death."_

By now, Gattor was frowning so deeply he thought his eyebrows were about to sink right into his eye sockets. But he knew an order when he heard one and quickly set off for Sector Seven, his rifle clasped tightly in his hands. "All right, Doc. I'll bite. I'm on my way."

" _Hurry, son,_ _"_ Dr. Torch murmured. " _We don_ _'t have much time."_


	3. Containment Breach

**Sector Seven, Blackwing Station**

Sector Seven was very different from the rest of Blackwing Station. The rest of the station was shabby, dirty, and marred by the wear and tear of months of hectic research work hunkered down in an isolated, stealthed space station. Power conduits snaked across the floors, lights flickered and threw sparks from time to time, and most of the transparisteel viewports were caked with a mixture of dust and coolant residue.

Few knew that it was actually meant to be deceptive; a humble, run-down exterior that housed a dark and terrible secret, like a simple Naboo pear infested with a hive of razor scorpions. No one would think to investigate their little operation here. And those that did…

Well, he preferred not to think about that.

But compared to that deceptive outside, Sector Seven could not be more different. As it was part of the research division — the literal and figurative "heart" of the station — everything was kept immaculate and sterilized. Bright lights pulsed overhead, shedding purest white illumination across the spotless white-polished floors and walls. The hallways were wide and unmarked by any of the safety signs or graffiti that adorned the rest of the station. Gattor had heard the research wing had been designed to take after Kaminoan cloning labs, and it certainly showed.

He keyed open a door, marked on his HUD as Dr. Torch's location. The entryway sheathed open to reveal a spacious meeting room dominated by a large U-shaped conference table and several plastoid chairs. Gathered within the pristine room were four stormtroopers – all of whom outranked Gattor by several stations – and two white-clad researchers. Gattor was easily able to identify the bearded Dr. Torch and his pretty, fragile-looking assistant, Eli Monro. All were gathered around a solitary figure bound to one of the conference chairs by a pair of electro-shock binders.

They all looked up at his approach and the troopers leveled their rifles at him. Gattor instantly raised his hands lest his entrance get him into any serious trouble.

"Who are you?" one of the troopers demanded.

He was about to speak, but Dr. Torch gestured for them to lower their weapons. "It's all right, Captain. I asked him to come. He may be able to help us."

"Why do we need a grunt from the external security force help us?"

"Hopefully," Torch said, "we don't. But precautionary measures are never a bad idea. Now, Sergeant Rigel, please join us."

"All right," Gattor said as he entered. His hands slowly came down, matching the pace of the rifles as they, too, were lowered. His confusion was mounting with each passing second. "I'm here, quick as can be just like you asked, Doc. Care to explain what's going on?"

Dr. Torch stroked at his beard, glaring at the cuffed figure in front of him. He then motioned for Gattor to step closer. When he spoke, however, he spoke to the other troopers.

"Fill him in, Captain. Tell him what you told me."

One of the other stormtroopers nodded reluctantly, obviously unhappy at the prospect of bringing in outside help. His rifle, Gattor noted, was only about half-charged; evidence of a recent firefight. His armor was scuffed and burned in several places, suggesting he had also taken fire.

"We caught this infiltrator poking around in the storage bays," the captain reported. He pointed an accusatory thumb at the figure bound to the chair. "She was trying to steal samples of the Blackwing serum for Force-knows what reason. We detained her, but she's not talking yet."

"The storage bays?" Gattor's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach with uncomfortable speed. "That's a potential contaminant risk, right?"

"We've sealed the bay for the time being," Torch said, "but we're also trying to keep this quiet. A security breach of this magnitude, with Lord Vader himself conducting an inspection…"

He didn't need to finish. Gattor knew the consequences of such a drastic failure. They'd probably all be killed before they could finish explaining themselves. He took a step closer and gestured to the prisoner.

"So who is she?"

Torch was about to speak when the prisoner interrupted him. She was thin and wiry, wearing some kind of black composite armor with a high collar. Her hair was shaved down to stubble, revealing a twisting scar behind her right ear. When she looked up at them, her blue eyes flashed dangerously.

"My name…" she said, spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the pristine white floor. She had obviously not come quietly once caught. Her right eye was almost swollen shut, her lip was cut, and she had a quickly-forming bruise on her right cheek. The other stormtroopers had done a number on her before cuffing her to the chair.

"My name," she repeated, "is Kalyn Farnmir. And if you don't let me out of these cuffs, you're going to regret it."

"And why is that?" Gattor cocked his head.

"Because if you don't, we're all going to die." She smiled at them, almost sweetly. But the blood staining her teeth from her cut lip transformed the motion into a macabre and unsettling one. "Because when the dying starts, you're going to want me on your side. And I can't kill bad guys if I'm tied up in this chair."

She jerked her head at Torch. "And you. Fancy-pants doctor. You might want to tell your white-job stormtroopers to be a little gentler when they're chasing people through chemical factories."

She looked up and held his gaze with a suggestive sneer, raising a single eyebrow expectantly. What she was waiting on, Gattor could only guess. But if the telltale fire in the woman's eyes was any judge, it wasn't anything good.

Torch stared back for a half-second before something clicked. His eyes widened. His face drained of all color. His mouth fell open in shock. He let out a short, strangled gasp of, "Oh my god."

Then, without another word he turned and sprinted out of the room. Gattor started and hurried after him, hefting his rifle into a more secure position against his shoulder. Torch had roped him into this mess after all, and he'd be damned if he didn't get some real answers soon.

"Doc!" he called as he drew even with the researcher. "What's the rush?"

"We need to see," Torch panted. He was not a military man by any stretch, and was quickly drawing into his fifties. Gattor found it easy to keep pace with him. "Need to make sure… if it's gotten into the air ducts… if it's been released…"

"Care to speak Basic? What's going on?"

"Airborne contaminants!" Torch gasped. He skidded to a halt outside of the security substation, keying the door open and gesturing frantically for the resident stormtroopers to vacate their posts. "If a stray shot punctured the virus canisters…"

Gattor's heart plummeted into his stomach. "What do you mean _airborne contaminants_? I thought you whitecoats were working with a fluid. Black, gooey, kind of gross-looking?"

Torch shook his head and didn't answer, throwing himself into the main security station's seat while the stormtrooper guards looked on with confusion. The doctor began ruthlessly hammering commands into the substation's keypad, eyes raking across the screens in front of him.

Gattor watched with bated breath as Torch brought up the security feed of the storage station. He rewound the footage almost an hour, until the stubble-haired woman appeared onscreen. She poked around the bay for a few minutes, producing a vial and syringe from her belt. With quick, careful motions she extracted a canister full of the dark, viscous Blackwing serum. She filled the syringe and transferred its contents into the transport vial.

She didn't make it far before the stormtrooper guard discovered her. Blaster fire began streaking across the screen, popping against the walls and spraying out showers of sparks that made the recording flicker and jump with short, jerky motions. The woman drew a silver-plated pistol and returned fire, wasting no time in overturning a desk and taking cover behind it.

Torch breathed a sigh of relief, even as deadly laser fire streaked by the screens before him. "Thank the Emperor. They're nowhere near the virus canisters."

On screen, the stormtroopers advanced on the woman with rifles raised. The woman had nowhere to go and she knew it; before long she stood from behind the table with her hands raised in surrender, her pistol lying at her feet. The troopers acted before she could have second thoughts, tackling her to the ground and shoving her onto her belly to cuff her hands behind her back. The vial of serum, tucked securely into a slot on her belt, was ground against the permacrete floor under the weight of an armored human and the two stormtroopers that pinned her.

It strained, then crunched.

A low, strangled sound bubbled up from Torch's throat. His eyes were so wide Gattor was almost afraid his eyes would pop out of his head and dangle down on his cheeks like some horrific children's cartoon.

But the good doctor didn't do anything so ghoulish. Instead he burst into motion, tapping more commands into the keypad. The security footage fizzled out, replaced by scrolling lines of code. He continued tapping away, his face drained of all color. Then he reached up to a lever next to the console, smashed the glass cover with a paperweight from the desk, and pulled it hard.

All the lights went out with a _crack_ and a whir of machinery powering down. They were quickly replaced by a wash of scarlet light and a blaring claxon.

" _Emergency_ ," a smooth female voice said over the stationwide comm speakers. " _Station lockdown engaged. Containment protocols enacted, priority level Alpha. All security personnel, proceed to designated stations. This is not a drill._ _"_

Torch shoved away from the station and rounded on the stormtrooper guards. Though his face was drawn and already beaded with sweat, his actions were smooth, measured, and steady; definitely not the motions of a man in panic. Gattor, on the other hand, felt as jittery and shaky as a Rodian gunslinger.

"Send word to the other guards," the doctor ordered. "There has been a containment breach in the storage supplies. By now, the airborne toxins have seeped into the ventilation systems and are probably dispersed throughout the station."

The guards glanced between themselves. "Sir, you don't have the clearance to—"

Torch shoved one of the troopers hard in the chest, so hard he staggered back and crashed against the wall. "There are superweapon-level airborne contaminants flooding every supply of oxygen we have on this station! By now, we've all been infected with it!"

The troopers glanced nervously between themselves again, but Torch wasn't finished. He began fishing on his belt for something while snapping, "Within the next ten minutes, the symptoms will start to show. Within twenty, we'll probably all be dead. So if you want to survive those next twenty minutes, you will relay my orders and then get to the nearest medical bay for inoculation!"

He glanced up and saw the two troopers still standing there, as stiff and dumb as posts. He glanced between the two incredulously, then shouted, " _Go!_ _"_

The troopers flinched and took off down the hall, disappearing around one rounded corner. Gattor watched them vanish through the flashing red lights, then turned to Dr. Torch. He got the idea those orders hadn't applied to him. When he spoke, his voice felt small and squeaky as an irritated mouse droid. "W-what do you want me to do?"

Torch finally pulled two hypospray injectors from his belt, both loaded with a clear white liquid. He offered one to Gattor, then quickly pressed the remaining one against his neck and depressed the trigger. There was a sharp hiss of air and he grimaced at the pain, but the clear liquid vanished from the hypo.

Gattor was not so excited to inject himself with strange chemicals. "What's this?"

"A vaccine," Torch explained, rubbing his neck. He gestured for Gattor to follow suit. "It's no guarantee that it'll stop the virus, but it's your best chance to survive the exposure."

"And we've all been exposed?"

Torch nodded grimly. "Those idiot troopers didn't secure the storage bay after they detained our infiltrator. If they had, they would have noticed the spill and sealed off all ventilation ducts from the storage area. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ …"

Gattor removed his helmet and pulled down the skintight collar of his undersuit. The hypospray stung when he pressed it against his neck, but the pain was quickly overwhelmed by a flood of cold tingles as the serum spread from the injection site.

"By now," Torch continued, heading out into the hall again, "we're all infected with the virus. Those who don't get this serum within the next ten minutes are as good as dead."

Gattor rubbed at his neck as he replaced his helmet back over his head. The hiss of his suit repressurizing was not as comforting as it usually was. "What do you mean, as good as dead? What's going to happen to them?"

A cold, haunted look entered Torch's eyes. "They'll cease to be men. They'll become fiercely aggressive, powerfully violent, and as rabid as animals. They'll attack anyone or anything they come across and not hesitate to maim, murder, and cannibalize their prey."

"Kriff me," Gattor murmured. He followed Torch out into the hall, shouldering his rifle. Already, the shadows had become a dark and dangerous place. He booted up his helmet's low-light systems just in case something was indeed lurking just out of sight. "Just what the kriff were you guys cooking up in that lab, Doc?"

That was when the first scream interrupted them; terrible, terrified, and wholly inhuman. Both the doctor and the stormtrooper jumped and spun toward the sound. Gattor's imagination quickly got to work conjuring up horrid ideas of just what tortured creature could make such a sound. His rifle snapped up and charged with a high-pitched whine.

The scream continued longer than he thought possible, echoing through the spotless empty hallways like the wail of some lonesome cavern creature. It was a man, crying in agony at some unseen wound. After a few endless moments, his cries died away into pitiful, desperate little moans. There was a rattle behind his breathing, a harsh and unnatural wheeze that sounded sick and disgusting. Gattor found himself preferring the screams.

"We created doomsday," Torch said hollowly. "The end of life as we know it."

* * *

Strange things happened in those precious few minutes preceding a catastrophe. One could feel it in the air, could smell it on the breeze. There was a tightness to existence, a taught kind of tension just waiting to be broken. It washed over everything, quickening the blood and sharpening the senses.

Kalyn knew the feeling well. She remembered feeling it when news broke about the Battle of Geonosis and the start of the Clone Wars. She remembered feeling it in the hectic moments before doing battle against the Zealots of Psusan. She remembered it most vividly when Cian, her longtime partner, had turned traitor and pulled a gun on her.

It was the feeling that things would never be the same again. That everything was suddenly, irreversibly changing.

The world seemed to hold its breath during these moments, waiting on the inevitable adrenaline-fueled plunge into utter chaos. Before the drop, everything seemed frozen in a strange, lightheaded bubble that confined those connected to the chaos. Kalyn was in that bubble now. And that's why she knew she was about to die.

It happened slowly at first. A twitch here, a cough there. The stormtroopers began itching at the exposed undersuits of their armor, at the seams in the wrist, underarm, and neck. They began to sniff like they had caught cold. By the time their brains finally processed that something was wrong, it was too late for them.

Kalyn felt it too. Her throat was tight, sinuses suddenly clogged. Her stomach was unsettled and nauseous, as if she had just flown on the galaxy's bumpiest ride through the Skyllian asteroid belt. She found it difficult to draw full breath, and beads of cold sweat broke out across her forehead and chest.

 _The virus_ , she thought with a sniff. _It_ _'s gotten into the air ducts. I'm infected. We all are._

Kalyn knew she was about to die, but she'd be damned if she keeled over while cuffed to a chair. So, while the troopers were busy coughing and snorting behind their rotund white helmets, she sent a small electrical charge down through her gauntlets. Her cuffs buzzed, then shorted out and clicked open.

Fate apparently decided to smile on her, because as soon as her restraints clicked open the lights went out.

Kalyn was up and out of her chair before the troopers could blink. She moved fast, driving her elbow into the nearest man's throat and doubling him up with an armored knee to the gut. The man toppled, sputtering in confusion and pain.

The lights returned, blaring red as an alarm rang throughout the station. A synthetic woman's voice said something over the comms, but Kalyn was too focused to pay attention. She reached down and scooped her confiscated pistol from the fallen stormtrooper's belt. It clapped into her palm with a reassuring weight and she spun and brought it to bear on the other guard. A single bolt to the forehead dropped him where he stood.

She wasted no time after that. She'd heard the scientists talking, knew they had synthesized a cure. She needed to get to the nearest medbay, needed to snag a syringe before she was too far gone. She didn't have much time.

She hadn't given the troopers much credit; they were poorly-trained grunts, far from the cloned warriors that had patrolled the galaxy during her yesteryears working in the Republic. They were a nuisance at best.

But what she hadn't counted on was Nurse Monro. To be honest, Kalyn had forgotten the quiet, well-mannered woman was even there. After all, Monro was a civilian and civilians were weak. Civilians panicked and screamed and blubbered for their lives. They couldn't put up much of a fight, much less pose an actual threat to her.

But when the whine of a charging E-11 blaster rifle froze her in her tracks, she found herself rethinking her position.

She slowly raised her hands, knowing that a shot to her back might cripple her if not kill her outright. She slowly turned to find the pretty doctor's assistant crouched behind the conference table. One of the fallen stormtrooper's rifles was clutched in her hands.

"Don't move," the woman said. Her voice was calm, level, and unafraid. Kalyn found herself impressed by the blond woman's constitution. Not many civilians could watch two soldiers get gunned down in front of them without barely blinking an eye. But impressed or no, Kalyn still had a mission. And no one — especially not a civilian — was going to stand in her way.

"I'm leaving this place," she said. "And you can't stop me."

"I can," Monro replied evenly. "And I will if you make me."

Kalyn narrowed her eyes, finger tightening over the firing stud of her weapon. The silver blaster glinted in the flashing red emergency lights. She didn't want to kill the woman, but she'd come to terms with the necessities of survival long ago. If she had to step over Monro's corpse to get to freedom, then so be it.

"Containment has failed," Monro said, slowly inching her way around the table. "It won't be long before the Blackwing virus starts contaminating and converting those exposed. That includes us."

She slowly reached down to her belt and produced a hypospray. "Unless we both get a shot of this, we'll both be dead in minutes."

"Ha!" Kalyn scoffed. "You really think I'm going to let you stick something strange in my neck and walk away? I've seen enough of your Project Blackwing to know that's a bad idea. I'll find my own way."

"Look.." Monro hesitated, then lowered her blaster. She set it on the table next to her and took a step away, holding her hands up in surrender. "I need you to trust me. I don't want you to die, I really don't. But if you don't get inoculated quickly, you will."

She took a step closer and Kalyn tightened her grip on her blaster, sighting in on Monro's pretty blond head. The nurse didn't stop and she didn't lower her hands.

"I bet you're already feeling the side effects, right? I am too. The tight throat, the stuffy nose. You're probably running a fever and before long your lungs will fill with fluid. After that it won't be long before you find yourself getting more aggressive."

"She took another step closer. "It'll start slow. Your temper will get shorter, your attention will be sharper. You'll start to pick fights. Throw punches. And that temper will grow and grow until you kill someone. And after that…"

Kalyn narrowed her eyes. "What? What happens after that?"

"Complete behavioral degradation," Monro said matter-of-factly. "We've witnessed a whole slew of antisocial behaviors in our test subjects. Cognitive dysfunction, motor disability, extreme rage…"

She hesitated and added, "Cannibalism."

"Kriff me," Kalyn hissed. " _Cannibalism?_ What the hell were you assholes cooking up in here?"

Monro took another step closer. "Unless you want that, please let me administer this hypo. We don't have time."

The huntress hesitated, then gestured with her pistol. "You first."

Monro sighed at her continued suspicion. But, to her credit, she didn't argue. She raised the hypo to her own neck and depressed the trigger. The ensuing hiss made her wince, but there appeared to be no other side effects. The nurse stretched her neck, rubbing at the irritated injection spot, then held the hypo out for Kalyn.

Farnmir took it, slowly and cautiously. Her eyes raked over Monro, searching for any sign that she was lying or trying to trick her. She found none. So, with a sigh and a muttered curse, she pressed the hypospray against her own neck and pulled the trigger.

There was a hiss and her neck stung like she'd been bitten by some insect. Then cold sensations began to ripple out from the entry point, spreading through her body and sending a chill down her spine. The hypospray was quickly tossed to the ground and the silver-plated blaster didn't leave Monro.

"So what now?"

"Now?" Monro straightened her labcoat. She seemed very calm about all of this, given the circumstances. "Now we get to a secure area, preferably guarded by stormtroopers. Those who haven't received the antidote will turn before long. We don't want to be here when that happens."

Kalyn scowled at her and didn't lower her gun. Every instinct was telling her to cut and run before things got out of hand any further. She wanted to shoot this woman, seal the conference room, and run for the hangar bay and the nearest ship.

 _But I can_ _'t do that_ , she found herself thinking. _The only reason this stuff got out was because I was caught snooping. I owe it to them to try and fix this._

She cursed at the nagging voice of her conscience, which didn't know when to leave well enough alone. Then, with an explosive sigh, her pistol lowered and was returned to its holster.

She wiped cold sweat from her forehead. In the little time since receiving the antidote, she was already feeling better. She scowled deeper at Monro, who looked more than a little relieved that the guns had been removed. "Fine. We'll do it your way. Where do we go?"

Monro was about to answer when the door suddenly hissed open behind them. Kalyn instantly drew her weapon again and whirled to face the intruders. She wasn't surprised to find Dr. Torch and the other stormtrooper – Gater or something – staring at her with wide, surprised eyes.

The doctor quickly took stock of the situation – and the two dead stormtroopers lying on the floor – and a grim look crossed his face. He looked to Kalyn with narrowed eyes.

"Did you do this?"

"Yep."

"Were they infected?"

"I think so."

"Have you and Eli been inoculated?"

"We have," answered Monro from over Kalyn's shoulder.

"Good." Torch let out a sigh of relief. "People are already turning all across the station. It won't be long before they send this whole area into lockdown."

"We have to move before they do that," Kalyn said. "Where's the nearest outgoing comm unit?"

"Comm unit?" Torch echoed as the taller huntress pushed past him. "They're all in the security wing, probably locked down. Why?"

A scream echoed toward them from down the right hallway, followed by several loud blaster shots and the sound of something heavy crashing to the ground. Gattor instantly swiveled to face the sound, rifle raised. Kalyn gestured for him to lower the weapon. She hazarded a glance up and down the hall, wary for any further surprises.

"I have to make a call," she said. "Much as I hate to admit it, we're going to need more than me if we want to survive this."


	4. Sleepless Night

Tamai liked to watch Cin sleep.

Maybe because it was one of the few times she saw him calm, still, and at peace. Maybe because it reminded her how lucky she was to be here, with him again. Or maybe it was simply because it was so rare these days.

He was vulnerable when he slept, and that itself was the rarest thing of all. He let his defenses down when he closed his eyes to rest. He was vulnerable for one of the only times during the day. Completely at the mercy of those he was with. The fact that he allowed her to be there those defenses came down was strangely touching. For a Mandalorian at least.

She propped herself up on one elbow, smiling lightly as she watched his eyes roll and move beneath his eyelids. His lips were slightly parted, one hand folded close to his chest while the other was cupped under his jaw, pinned between his cheek and the pillow. His helmet was resting on the bedside table, as if standing in silent vigil while its owner slept. She knew the metaphor was more apt than most would think; his helmet's scanning systems were probably surveying the room even now, and would alert him if they detected anything amiss.

 _Ah, the ever-present paranoia of the bounty hunter._ She smiled wider as she reached over and traced her fingers over the intricate green-black tattoo that adorned his arm. From a distance, it looked like a simple thing – little more than two dark stripes that stretched down to his wrist before joining over the back of his right hand. But upon closer inspection, she could see that it was actually a dazzling collection of complicated swoops and arches, sharp edges and geometric patterns, all confined within twin bars of color. The artistry was breathtaking.

She'd heard of the Kiffar and their ritualistic tattoos. They signified clan membership and social status among their people. But when the truth of Cin's alien heritage came to light, he'd spent months trying to tie the tattoo to any known clan in the galaxy. The search yielded no results.

She knew that the ink had once been even more impressive. It had once covered almost half his face, stretching over his right eye, before it had been forcibly removed by his former Imperial employers. In tribute to this missing feature, he had placed the stripes on his armor, most prominently over the right side of the helmet dome. It had become an iconic part of his kit.

He moved in his sleep, shifting to the presence of her touch on his arm. One of his hands reached up and covered her own with the tentative, unfocused touch of a dreamer. She squeezed his fingers and he murmured something she couldn't hear.

 _Strange_ , she thought, _how much he_ _'s changed since we parted ways all those years ago. How much we've both changed._

She had changed quite a bit since they'd seen each other last. Her hair was longer, her body taller, leaner, and stronger, and a little of her fiery youthfulness had died down after years spent on the frontier. Cin was older, bigger, and deadlier than before, his pale body marked and marred by an intricate spider web of old scars and burns. But the same sweet, shy boy lurked behind those cold blue eyes, just as the same passionate fighter still thrived in Tamai. The galaxy for all its cruelties hadn't eradicated the people they had been. Not completely. Not yet.

 _Thank the Force for that_ , she thought. _When I first saw him in the jungles, I wasn_ _'t even sure he was the same person. Whether he'd remember me. Whether I would still…_

She didn't let herself finish the thought. It was too soon, after all. Far too soon after they'd finally settled their differences and reconciled after almost four years to bring up such silly matters like _love_. But still, she couldn't ignore the warm feeling that blossomed in her chest at the sight of this fearsome warrior lying quiet and vulnerable next to her. It was a strange feeling, but a welcome one. It had been a long time since anyone had made her feel that way.

He suddenly changed. The smile on his lips faded into a furrowed brow and a small frown. The hand covering her own twitched, then fell away. His eyes rolled faster beneath their lids, and his arm tensed beneath her fingers. Something was wrong. He'd gone as stiff as a board, his feet kicking beneath the sheets. The cords of his neck stuck out sharply in the dark and his hands clenched into fists. His lips pressed into a tight line, then parted as he let out a pained gasp.

"Cin?" she shook his arm, but he didn't wake. "Cin, what's wrong?"

He let out a groan and clutched at the sheets. He'd broken into a cold sweat, and his feet thrashed beneath the covers harder and harder with each passing moment. He dug his face against the pillow, a tortured grimace crossing his shadowy features.

"Cin, wake up. You're having a nightmare."

He suddenly threw himself onto his back, arching and clasping at the sheets with an iron grip. She was about to shake him again when there was a sudden flash of pale, sky-blue light. The room lit up like a Nar Shadda bazaar and Tamai cried out at the sudden glow. She winced away and shielded her face, frantically wondering where the sudden blast of light was coming from.

Then she saw that Cin's eyes were wide open and the light was pouring out from them with all the strength of a speeder's illuminators. His face was a perfect mask of agony, twisted into a tortured facade that twitched and contorted into terrifying, near-inhuman expressions. Tamai's heart, only moments ago warmed at the sight of him, now plummeted into her gut for the same reason.

 _Oh no. Not again_. He was having one of _those_ nightmares. One of the dangerous ones. A psychometric relapse. He was trapped in an endless loop of his own worst memories, a prisoner of his mind and his past.

She didn't know what to do. He'd had these nightmares before, but she'd never seen one of the attacks up close. And Cin himself had warned her to stay far away for as long as the attack lasted and to not – under any circumstances – to touch him.

She scrambled away, moving as far away from him as possible as he writhed and squirmed about on the bed. He threw his head back, his breath coming in pained gasps. His arms were shaking, fists clenched so tightly she could hear the sheets ripping. A second later he began screaming.

 _I can_ _'t just sit here_ , she thought as his agonized shrieks filled the room. _I have to do_ something _._

She acted before she had time to doubt herself. With a desperate gasp, she threw herself back over the bed and clasped his hand tight in her own. She had a half-second to think, _Oh kriff, this was a bad choice_.

Then the world dissolved into a formless whirl of agony. Her vision went black and her head spun. Pain ripped through every nerve in her body and her vision flashed blue. She felt like she'd been plunged into an inferno of sapphire flames, and she was sure she began screaming as well.

When she'd been little, she'd stupidly stuck a _beskar_ knife into a power socket on a dare. The ensuing shock had burned her hand, singed her eyebrows, and sent so much electricity through her that she'd shorted out half a Keldabe block. The sensation now wasn't all that different.

She wanted to let go. She wanted to throw Cin's hand away and never touch him again. But her muscles had locked and she couldn't let go now, no matter how much she wanted to. Her fingers twitched hard, trembling under the strain. She felt herself bite her tongue, felt blood suddenly flood her mouth. But she couldn't pull away.

Then the images began. They were subtle at first, little more than shapes in the darkness behind her eyelids. They flickered and warped in her mind, even though her eyes were wide open. Then the shapes and figures began to take form. They resolved into perfect clarity, and with them came other sensory information: smells, sounds, and sensations.

A strange woman's face jumped at her from the darkness, screaming, " _Hold on! Don_ _'t let go!"_

She jumped back, away from the shrieking face, and the world dissolved back into darkness. Everything roared around her and she felt a strange jerking sensation, as if the world had suddenly lurched away from the ground. The woman's face retreated and she realized she was suddenly flying, head-over-heels, through open air. Cold wind buffeted her, throwing her about so fast her head was whipped from side to side with painful speed. She screamed, long and loud, but could not let go of Cin's hand.

The scene faded, replaced by Rame's blurry visage. The gray-haired man's face was drawn and angry, a stunning and frightening counterpoint to his usually cheerful demeanor. He had a cut over his eyebrow, which dripped blood down in a long stream onto his cheek.

" _Until you learn to behave yourself_ ," he said, his voice echoing as if from down a long tunnel, " _the cuffs stay on. It_ _'s for all our protection, yours included."_

Tamai was no longer in control of her body. She lunged at him like a beast, snapping at him with her teeth. Her hands were suddenly bound together by heavy stun cuffs locked around a post. She was filled with a base, animalistic fury, and wanted nothing more than to rip this strange man's throat out – preferably with her own hands.

Like before, the image faded away into the void of pain and confusion. She stumbled about in this strange mental wasteland until another image flashed to life.

She saw herself, but from different eyes, like she was a spectator outside her own body. Even with her pain-addled mind, she could guess whose eyes she was hijacking. The impostor Tamai's face was younger, smoother and unmarked by the scars and grime of Ranger work. She was maybe thirteen or fourteen, and her expression was livid, much like Rame's. Her brows were furrowed furiously and tears were streaming down her cheeks. Her hands were clenched into quivering fists, and Tamai found herself worrying about how close those fists were to the daggers sheathed on the imposter's belt.

The impostor Tamai shoved the real Tamai hard in the chest, sending her staggering back a few steps.

 _"You're lying!"_ the impostor Tamai shouted. " _You always lie!_ _"_

"I'm telling the truth," the real Tamai found herself saying. "I wouldn't lie to you."

" _I don_ _'t believe you! And I don't care!"_

"Tamai—"

The impostor Tamai punched this time, and the blow landed hard against the real Tamai's cheek. She cried out as her head was whipped to the side from the force of the strike. She rubbed at her cheek while the impostor Tamai shouted, " _Go! Leave and never come back! I never want to see you again!_ _"_

Even in her strange state, the real Tamai felt a hot flush of shame at the image. She remembered it well. This was when she'd broken up with Cin the first time, when she'd been convinced that he'd cheated on her with Brianna. It wasn't true, of course, but she hadn't believed it and it hadn't stopped her from accusing him and immediately breaking up with him. It was the last time they'd seen each other before their reunion in the jungles almost a month ago.

Thankfully this image dissolved as well, replaced by yet another. And another. She saw Janada, holding her hand and reciting a traditional adoption vow. She saw stormtroopers, their chests carved open and throats slashed by some blunt instrument, strung up from tree branches by their ankles on some unknown forest world. She saw Darth Vader striding between lines of assembled mercenaries and booming out assault orders. She saw Brianna laughing at some joke while she painted the sunset from the plaza outside the _Oyu_ _'baat_. She saw a trembling, terrified little girl, barely older than sixteen, pleading for mercy while a blaster, clasped tight in Tamai's unwilling hands, raised and aimed at the girl's forehead. She saw a young woman, battered and bruised like she'd been mauled by a rampaging reek, hold out her hand and say, " _My name_ _'s Jay Kolta. Pleased to meet you_."

Then the world went cold. Sensation slowly drained away in place of a dull, aching throb in her temples. Through the dark, a man's voice barked, " _Get this scum processed. The Whiteclaw scientists want to have a go at him before the day_ _'s up."_

A second later, splitting pain stabbed into her chest. She hunched over and screamed as another lance of agony plunged into the other side of her chest. Something inside her cracked, and her lungs filled with ice.

She looked down and saw that she was suddenly strapped to an operating table. Needles protruded from either side of her chest, from her arms, and from her legs. They chugged and sucked softly, sluggishly pushing fluid through tiny opaque tubes and into her body. Her lungs surged up with something icy and thick and heavy, until she gagged and vomited sticky black sludge down her front and—

She screamed and was lost in the whirlwind.

* * *

 **Jay** **'s apartment, downtown Keldabe**

Jay was pinned before she could move to defend herself. She tried to get her hands underneath her, to force herself back up to a sitting position. But before she could, strong hands wrapped around her wrist and held her down, immobile.

She wriggled a little, then laughed and cried, "All right! All right! You win! Now let me go."

Denton, stretched out over her, shot her a crooked grin. "I've got you right where I want you, Moqena. You're not going anywhere."

Then his hands raced down to her sides and began to tickle ruthlessly. She thrashed and tried to fight him off, batting away his hands and giggling. After a few harried moments, she managed to get her knees under her and shove hard. Denton flipped to the side, onto his back, and Jay quickly reversed their positions. She threw herself on top of him and used her weight to press him down against the bed.

"Seems like the tables have turned, Draal." She smirked at him, her hair falling in an unkempt curtain around her face.

"From your point of view, maybe," he replied. "But things are still looking pretty good from where I'm at."

She laughed and put her hands on his chest, pinning him down. "You're a good sport. But that doesn't make you any less a loser."

"Give me five minutes. I might change your mind."

A mock pouty-face from her. "Only five minutes? I'm disappointed. I hope you can do better than that."

"Come here and let's see."

She leaned down and captured his lips with her own while his hands came up and buried themselves in her hair, holding her close and ensuring she didn't try any more funny business. Her hands trailed over the chiseled muscles of his abdomen, teasing up and down his abs. One of his hands came to rest at the small of her back, massaging the dip of her spine with a soft, pleasurable back-and-forth rhythm.

On the bedside table, her comm buzzed. She ignored it.

With a grunt, Denton reversed their position and pinned her once more to the bed. Her shirt was hiked up by the motion and he ran his fingers along the toned muscles of her bared stomach. She giggled and her torso muscles clenched against her will. Denton leaned closer, his lips tracing along her jaw, and whispered, "You are so beautiful…"

With a short burst of breathless writhing and wriggling, she managed to get him out of his shirt. Seconds later, her shirt followed. Her hands raced over his body faster and faster, and when he nibbled at her ear she let out a happy gasp and arched against him.

Her comm buzzed again. The excited motions and happy giggles stopped, replaced by a weary sigh from her. She put her hands on his chest, bringing the evening's activities to a jarring halt.

"Hold up a second big guy. Let me check that."

"C'mon," he said, capturing her lips in a quick kiss. "Let it ring. Whoever it is can call back later."

"In five minutes?" she said with a smirk.

"I was thinking an hour." He pressed his teeth into the pulse point at her neck and she writhed against him with a contented sigh. "Maybe two."

Jay had to admit, he made a compelling counter-offer. They grappled and kissed in silence for a few minutes more, losing more and more clothes in the process. But Jay's comm kept buzzing relentlessly on the bedside table, until Denton sighed and slumped over her with an exasperated grunt.

"You sure you can't put that thing on mute or something?"

"Sorry, _Den_ _'ika."_ She sighed as well and gently pushed him away. He sprawled unhappily onto his back. "Duty calls, I'm afraid."

"You sure?"

"In my line of work," she said, pulling her pants back up, "it's not wise to ignore comm calls this late at night. It's probably important."

"If it's your partner again," Denton grumbled, "I'm going to kill him myself. Interrupting us is starting to become a habit of his."

"He's only interrupted a date once," she reminded him. She pulled her undershirt down and scooped up her comm.

"What about that time we were having dinner at the _Nebula_? And that bolo-ball game two weeks ago?"

"Shh," she chided him. "I'm on comms."

She held the unit to her ear and triggered it. "This is Moqena. State your business."

There was a click on the other end; the call was a prerecorded message, then. There was a hiss of static, then a familiar voice began to speak.

" _This is Captain Kalyn Farnmir of the freelance transport_ Tough Luck. _I_ _'m transmitting this message from a top-secret Imperial research station in Wild Space, beyond the Outer Rim. The station has been conducting research into viral weaponry, and their containment measures have failed."_

Jay felt her heart plummet into her gut, but the message wasn't over. There was another hiss of static and Kalyn continued, " _The virus has been released into the air system. Most of the station is beyond saving, but we have a small number of survivors. We need immediate extraction and medevac for wounded and sick personnel._ _"_

Another pause. " _But I_ _'ll settle for you, Rookie. If you can hear this, Jay, get your partner and get to these coordinates as quickly as you can manage. Project Whiteclaw is at it again._ "

The huntress' last words made Jay's blood run cold. _Project Whiteclaw_. The scientists that had kidnapped and tortured Cin. They were back?

Kalyn finished the message by rattling off a quick string of coordinates. If Jay's knowledge of intergalactic travel was as accurate as she liked to believe, the coordinates led to a site a few hundred parsecs from the Barooq system. Uncharted territory.

The comm message clicked, then began to repeat. Jay quickly hung up, tossed the comm unit aside, and began scrambling back into her clothes with hurried, jerky motions. Denton sat up with a concerned frown.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Like I said. It was important. I have to go."

" _Now_?"

She nodded. "I need to get to Cin. If he hasn't heard already, he will soon. We're going to need to get on this as quickly as possible."

He sighed explosively and fell back against the bed. "When do you think you'll be back?"

"I don't know. A few days, maybe a week. Maybe more."

"You sure you have to do this?"

She nodded. "I do. It's _Whiteclaw_ , Denton. You know how important this is to Cin."

"Then let him deal with it. This is his fight, not yours."

"We've been over this before. His fights are my fights."

"No, they're not," he insisted. He rose to a sitting position again and clasped her hand tight in his own. "Whatever he's gotten himself tangled up in, it's not your problem to solve. He's a bounty hunter and has been one for longer than you. I'm sure he can figure this out on his own."

"I know you worry about me. But I'll be fine. I promise."

He didn't let go of her hand. His voice grew more insistent. "I don't want to lose you, Jay. I love you."

She sighed, tracing her thumb over the contours of his hand. "I know. And… and I care about you too, Denton. But I'll be fine. Trust me."

He stared at her for a long time, and something dark invaded his gaze. His face fell and he let go, falling back onto the bed. There was a definite note of a sneer behind his voice when he said, "All right, then. Go help your friend. I'll be waiting for your comm call."

"Thanks, _cyar_ _'ika._ " She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. "Don't worry. I'll be back before you know it."

His expression was unreadable. "I'll hold you to that."

* * *

With a breathless, desperate wheeze, Tamai ripped her hand free of Vhetin's iron grip. She toppled back off the bed and thudded hard against the floor, backside throbbing from the impact. Something crashed and shattered next to her, but it was lost amid Cin's continued cries of agony. Blue highlights lit up the darkened bedroom, making Tamai's head throb and her eyes water.

She rubbed at her sore wrist, her breath coming in pained gasps. She felt like she had just run a marathon in full armor and her legs felt rubbery and unsteady beneath her. With a groan, she braced herself on a nearby end table and hauled herself to her feet. Her balance wobbled violently and she staggered, at least until she supported herself on the wall. Cin continued to thrash and moan on the bed.

Her heart was hammering uncomfortably hard against her ribs and she felt like her hands would never stop shaking. She winced every time that blue light passed over her.

Was _that_ what his nightmares were like? A chaotic flood of memories – good and bad – that assaulted him every waking moment of his sleep? They had felt so _real_ …

She shook her head and quickly regretted it, pressing the heel of her palm hard against her temple with a sharp hiss. Her balance was still wobbly, but she managed to take two steps back toward the bed.

She never wanted to feel that again. That pain, that fear, that chaotic swirl of memory and confusion. She winced as Vhetin arched his back again and let out a long, desperate wail. When his breath was gone, he collapsed back to the bed and began panting, sucking in great lungfuls of breath while his arms twitched and his legs kicked hard at the bed. The steady stream of blue-white light didn't stop seeping from his eyes.

 _What can I do?_ she thought, wringing her still-trembling hands. _I don_ _'t know how to help him, and I can't get him out of this without touching him again._

A sick feeling of helplessness flooded her. She couldn't just stand by and watch him suffer, but she didn't know how to help. Maybe if she made some kind of loud noise he would wake and—

Cin's handheld comlink, lying on the table next to him, buzzed loudly. She jumped at the sound, then covered her heart with one hand when she realized its source. The comm unit, which didn't care how startled she was, buzzed again even louder than before.

She took one last glance at the bed, then scooped up the comm unit and clicked it on. She quickly stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her, muffling her boyfriend's screams.

"Tamai here," she said. Her voice was shaking harder than she liked.

" _Hey, it_ _'s… Tamai? Why are you answering Cin's comm?"_

"Hi, Jay." She recognized the voice of Vhetin's partner. "Cin… he's indisposed at the moment."

" _What_ _'s wrong?"_

"He's…" she bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder. Her voice and body both were still trembling. "He's having another one of his nightmares. I tried to wake him up, but I ended up touching him, and I saw these things…"

She took a deep, calming breath. It didn't help. "I-I don't know what to do."

There was silence from over the comm. Then Jay said, " _I_ _'m on my way to the bastion. Try to calm him down. I'll be there soon."_

"I don't—"

" _How did Rame take care of him when this happened before? When you two were younger? I know he used to have this kind of attack back then_ _"_

Tamai wracked her brain. It was so long ago, the memory buried under years of Ranger training and adventures on the frontier. "I don't remember… he said not to touch him, b-but that breaking skin contact was enough to protect from his psychometry?"

" _Okay. So grab a pair of gloves and try to wake him up. I_ _'ll be there in five."_

"All right. Thanks."

There was a grim note in Jay's voice. " _Don_ _'t mention it. I'll be there soon."_

Tamai quickly shut down the comlink and hurried back into the room. Cin's screams had died back into exhausted, breathless whimpers now. His limbs moved sluggishly across the bedsheets, which were soaked with cold sweat. A sluggish trickle of blood was leaking from his right nostril.

There was no time to wait. Tamai scooped up her suit's gloves, which had been carelessly tossed on the floor by the bed. Her heart was racing uncomfortably at the prospect of touching him again in his current state, but she knew how dangerous it was to leave him like this.

His nightmares were worse now than they had been when they were young. Back then he'd wake up, drenched in sweat and panting, talking about nightmares of transport crashes, of fire and screams. They were remnant memories of his accident, of the crash that had left him brain damaged and unable to remember his past.

Now they were stronger than ever, reinforced by all the terrible memories he'd made as a bounty hunter. And this time when the nightmares struck, he didn't wake up.

She pulled the gloves on and returned to the bed, her hands hovering over him as if she were about to defuse a bomb. Her throat was suddenly tight and dry, as if she had swallowed a mouthful of sand, and her whole body was trembling.

If this were a combat situation, she would chide herself for acting like a coward. A real Mandalorian, she would say, relished a challenge such as this. But given the gravity of what she'd just seen and felt, a little fear was understandable here. Summoning up all her considerable grit, she clenched her teeth, closed her eyes, then reached out and shook his shoulder.

No visions came. No pain raced through her fingers at the first brush of her hands against his arm. She just felt his quivering muscles clench and release beneath her gloved fingertips. A long breath huffed past her lips and she slowly relaxed. At least she knew this would work.

She shook him again and he tried to writhe away from her hands. His back twisted painfully, his arms and legs splayed out at uncomfortable angles. But the blue light that poured from his eyes flickered for the briefest of moments.

She shook him, harder this time, and hissed, "Cin, wake up. You need to wake up."

He groaned and arched his back. This time, the blue light dimmed considerably. She reached down and clasped his hand tightly with her gloved one, while her other hand continued to shake his shoulder.

"Wake up, Cin. It's all right. Just wake up."

Then the light suddenly blinked out, as quickly as it had appeared. The room was cast into darkness and Cin sat bolt-upright in bed, his chest heaving and his eyes glinting unnaturally bright in the dark. His frantic gaze raked across the darkened bedroom before falling on her. Then they softened.

"Tamai," he said, his voice quiet and shaking. "D-did you…"

She hesitated, then nodded.

In an instant, it was like all the strength had fled from his body. He reached for her, and she allowed him to pull her into a tight and desperate hug. He buried his face in her hair and she wrapped her arms around his sides, holding him close.

"I'm so sorry," he hissed, stroking her hair. She closed her eyes at the sensation, feeling the slightest bit of tension finally begin to drain away. "You should never have had to see any of that. I… I could have killed you…"

She drew back and shook her head with a small smile. "It'll take more than a few weird dreams to put me in the ground."

"It doesn't work that way. You know that."

"I know. I just… I just couldn't stand seeing you in pain. So, I…"

She trailed off with a sniff and a helpless shrug. He stared at her with that same sorrowful, apologetic look, then reached up and cupped her cheek. " _Te Manda_ _'s_ sake, what did I ever do to deserve you?"

Her hand came up and covered his. She smiled at him. He smiled at her. Then he gathered her up in his arms and she hugged him back, burying her face in his neck and letting out a sigh of relief. They stayed that way for some time. The nightmares were over for the both of them.

* * *

Ten minutes later Cin was sitting at the table in the kitchen, cradling his helmeted head with one hand. His temples were throbbing and his entire body was sore, pulsing with a dull ache that seemed to settle right under his skin. Even getting into his armor, usually second-nature to him, had been a painful chore. Every motion sent fresh tingles of discomfort coursing through his body like wildfire, like every nerve was being pricked by some unseen needle.

Tamai was sitting next to him, nursing a cup of hot chocolate in her hands. The drink was one of her favorites and after the night they'd both had, he was sure she needed the comfort. Since he'd woken from the nightmare, she'd refused to let go of his hand. She was clasping it tightly even now.

His body was still shaking from the adrenaline of his nightmares, weak and overstressed from the surge of adrenaline and pain. But the shame that crawled around in his gut made the sensations seem like a treat. His eyes had remained fixed on the rough tabletop since sitting down, his mind racing with a thousand self-deprecating scoldings. He never should have let Tamai touch him. He should have agreed to sleep in a different room, should have told her what would happen if she interfered. He never wanted her to experience his nightmares too.

 _It was selfish_ , he thought. _Selfish to ask her to move in here, even if only for a little while. I_ _'m too dangerous for her. I should have realized that sooner, before I got her wrapped up in all of this. She didn't sign on for this, and it's stupid of me to expect her to stick around when I'm turning the bedroom into a one-man lightshow every night._

He didn't care that she'd told him not to apologize, that it had been her choice to touch him. He didn't care that she had waved away all his apologies. He could have seriously hurt her. He could have _killed_ her.

He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart and felt the invisible needles set to work on his aching lungs. He grimaced and forced himself to ignore the pain, focusing instead on the memory of her wide-eyed, terrified face, the first thing he'd seen upon waking. He never wanted to see that sight again. Something had to be done. Something that would keep her safe from the ravages of his volatile psychometrics.

Before this line of thought could continue, he heard the bastion's front door crank open and quickly slam shut again. He looked up just in time to see Jay enter the room in an obvious hurry; she was still pulling on her armorleather jacket and awkwardly tucking her pistol into the holster on her hip. Her hair was disheveled, there were bags under her eyes, and even as she appeared in the doorway she was rubbing at her eyes with a weary sigh.

The weary sigh turned into a relieved one when she saw the two Mandalorians sitting at the table. Her shoulders slumped a little and she let out a soft curse. "Thank the Force, you're awake."

"For what it's worth," Vhetin croaked from his seat, not turning his gaze from its place perusing the intricacies of the wood grain of the table top. His throat was parched and scratchy and his voice grumbled up from his lungs with the texture of two rocks grinding together.

"You look like _osik._ _"_ Her expression softened. "You both do."

"Right back atcha, Moqena." Tamai tipped her mug toward the woman in a sarcastic toast. "Around here we say _good morning._ "

"Is… is there anything I can do? You know, to help?"

Vhetin hunched lower and rubbed his palms over his cheeks, forgetting that his helmet got in the way. His gloved hands ran instead over the hard planes of his bucket, igniting a fresh little wave of tiny needles. "Not unless you can magically scoop my brains out and stop them trying to kill me."

"No luck there, I'm afraid," Jay said. She slid into the chair across from the two and looked to Tamai. "What about you? Are you okay?"

"Peachy," the blonde replied, her voice echoing within the depths of her mug.

"So what did you need to talk about?" Vhetin asked. "You wouldn't have come all the way up from Keldabe if it wasn't important."

"It is important," she replied. "Possibly the most important thing that's come our way in months."

Against his better judgment, his interest was piqued. "Do tell."

"Kalyn Farnmir messaged me. She said she's under attack in a top-secret Imperial space station a few hundred parsecs into Wild Space. It sounds bad."

"Not surprised to hear she got herself into trouble. But why—"

"It's Whiteclaw, Cin."

Vhetin's question died on his lips. His entire body froze, as if locked by stun cuffs. For a moment, he thought he had misheard. But there was no mistaking that word.

 _Whiteclaw._ He'd always suspected the project had survived the destruction of the Facility on Qorbus. Imperial science projects were like carrion roaches; no matter how sure you were they were squashed, they always seemed to get back up and scuttle away to a new dark corner. But still, he'd somehow never imagined what it would be like to actually hear of its return.

His voice caught in his throat and he had to clear it awkwardly before he managed to choke out, "What else did Kalyn say?"

"She said the researchers were working on some kind of viral weaponry project. And now it's out, poisoning their air supply and trapping everyone inside, Kalyn included. She needs help, Cin. The fact that she's coming to us only makes it all the more serious."

He nodded. His motions felt sharp and jerky, like he wasn't fully in control of his body. His fingers had gone strangely numb, as had his toes. Everywhere else seemed to suddenly be stabbed by those thousand tiny needles all at once.

"All right," he finally said. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as you're ready." She didn't look surprised by his eagerness to depart. " _Vengeance_ is in the clearing, waiting on standby, but we can both take _Void_ if you'd prefer."

"That would be best. _Void_ _'s_ stealth systems should come in handy. If there was an outbreak, we can be sure the station's been locked down by now. We'll… we'll have to sneak in."

He felt his stomach churn dangerously and his throat tightened like he was about to vomit. Just the mere thought of Whiteclaw and its experiments seemed to immediately bring back all the old feelings of the neo-pneumonia virus they had given him. He felt like he was about to purge a batch of preservative fluid from his lungs, a feeling he hadn't encountered in months. He couldn't be sure, but he suspected he was suddenly turning a pale shade of green beneath his armor.

Tamai quickly caught on to his discomfort. She clasped his hand tightly and said, "Jay, can you give us a minute?"

"Sure. You all right?"

"The nightmare," Vhetin managed to croak. "It was… rough this time. For both of us."

It was a lie of course, but not so much of one as to be worthy of reprimand. His partner glanced between them, then nodded and stood from her seat. She hurried from the room, dialing out a comm number as she went, and as soon as the _vheh_ _'yaim_ 's main door slammed shut behind her, Vhetin reached up and yanked off his helmet. It bounced hard across the table and fell to the floor. His face was pale and clammy, forehead beaded with sweat. His heart beat a thundering rhythm against his chest, seeming to rap against the chest plates of his armor.

Tamai squeezed his hand. "You okay?"

He shook his head and swallowed with difficulty. "No. No I'm not. I always suspected they'd be back, that they'd…"

He hesitated, then stood from his chair and let go of her hand. He turned his back to her and leaned over the sink. His stomach was still rolling dangerously and he covered his mouth with a gloved hand in hopes that it would keep any lingering preservative fluid down. His meds kept the worst of the symptoms at bay and suppressed the neo-pneumonia virus to the point of near-extinction until the Keldabe doctors could find a true cure. But it always paid to be prepared for the worst, just in case.

"Hey." A chair scraped across the floor and Tamai appeared at his side. She squeezed his arm and rested her chin on his shoulder. "It's okay," she murmured, her breath cool against his ear. "Whatever Whiteclaw is planning, you can handle it. I know you can."

He shook his head. "Whiteclaw… they're different, Tamai. I've faced down gangsters, assassins, and even Sith. But these guys…"

He leaned toward her, resting his clammy forehead against her soft, smoother one. "They're the first ones I'm not sure I can stop. The things they did… to me, to the others…" He glanced at her, then quickly away. "I've never seen anything like it. Never _felt_ anything like it."

"And they'll never do it again," Tamai pressed. "I won't let them take you again. I only just got you back, after all."

"I'll hold you to that," he said with a dry laugh. "You'll have to be my dedicated rescuer this time. Jay will be glad for the break."

"Cin," she said seriously and squeezed his arm tighter. For some reason, the subtle pain of her grip focused him and drove away the swelling knot of fear and panic that had formed in the pit of his gut. "You can handle this. You faced them down once before already and you can do it again."

"Kriff," he sighed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I hope you're right."

She caught his cheek and turned him to face her. He resisted a little, until she leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Only then did he close his eyes and lean into the embrace. When she pulled back, far too soon for either of their tastes, she smiled at him.

He didn't smile back. Instead, he focused on committing that image to memory. Tamai, with her pale blond hair and beautiful green eyes. Tamai, warm and happy and loving, standing by him even in the worst of times when all the galaxy seemed to be setting itself against him. Tamai, who represented everything he was fighting for, everything he'd be willing to die for if necessary. The strength of such an image would carry him long after the strength of his body had forsaken him.

"Those Imperial bastards owe me for what they did," he eventually said. Now, his voice was low, calm, and strong. "I'm going to make sure they pay."

Tamai's smile grew wider. "There's the Stripes I know. _Oya, cyar_ _'ika_."

He pushed away from the sink. His stomach had finally calmed and his jitters had been replaced with a cold, levelheaded calm.

" _Oya_."

* * *

Five minutes later, Vhetin strode out of his _vheh_ _'yaim_ , securing his helmet over his head as he went. Jay glanced up from her comm at his approach, then muttered a quick farewell and returned the unit to its place on her belt.

"You ready?" Vhetin asked. He had his rifle tucked against his shoulder. Slung over his back was a rucksack of supplies. She spotted guns crammed inside. Lots of guns.

"Yeah," she replied and hurried to fall into step next to him. "I just got off comms with Rame and told him where we were going. Are you okay?"

He brushed past her, heading straight for _Void_ without looking back. The spearhead-shaped ship was resting on its landing struts not far from the bastion. As he approached, an unseen trigger from his helmet unsealed the entryway and extracted the landing ramp.

"Never better," he growled.


	5. Another Happy Landing

**Freelance Transport _Void_ , exact coordinates unknown**

"What do you have?" Jay asked as she stepped into the cockpit. "I noticed we dropped out of lightspeed."

Vhetin sat back in the pilot's chair and gestured to a hologram shimmering on the console above him. It displayed a standard Imperial space station, roughly conical with four branching wings clustered around a central spire. It was rotating slowly, a light flashing at the bottom of the central spire.

"This is our target," he said. "An Imperial space station, right where Kalyn said it would be."

"You sound surprised."

He sighed and folded his arms across his chest. "Part of me was hoping this was all a ploy to keep me away from some bounty contract she was working. I can't tell if I'm disappointed or not."

The hologram of the space station flickered and buzzed with static, while the real station was little more than a tiny speck against the black void of space. Far easier to see was the Imperial-II class Star Destroyer hovering not far from _Void_ 's location, its building-sized engines powered down and its turbolasers charged in case of emergency attack. If Project Whiteclaw was trying to remain clandestine, then a city-sized Imperial Destroyer stationed as a guard was not the most subtle form of defense.

Vhetin noticed her curious frown and said, "Ah, say hello to the ISD _Ember Hawk_. She's supposed to be on patrol along the Hydian way. Why she's out here is beyond me."

"Curiouser and curiouser." Jay stared at the Destroyer a moment longer. There were only two reasons a ship that size would be called to such a clandestine location: either they were being plagued by pirates or rebel forces in the area (unlikely, considering how far they were from any kind of habitable system) or there was some kind of Imperial dignitary visiting. But what kind of dignitary would visit a top-secret viral weaponry research station? Someone related to the outbreak, perhaps?

She quickly filed the question away for later, then nodded to the hologram. "So what're the station's specs?"

"Unknown," he replied, swiveling to face the console. A few tapped commands and the hologram switched to scanning mode, revealing a surprisingly detailed readout of the interior. "The station isn't transmitting any kind of transponder or identification code. It's running completely silent and seems to have a built-in cloaking device that shields it from view."

"High tech," Jay said with a raised eyebrow. "I guess Whiteclaw decided underground prisons weren't secure enough."

"It's a good plan. This deep into Wild Space, there's little risk of a security breach harming local planets. Space itself becomes part of the quarantine zone."

Jay tapped her chin, eyes darting over the hologram. "And what, I wonder, are they keeping in quarantine?"

"If the Whiteclaw serum is as virulent as I remember it," Vhetin said, "it could potentially wipe out the population of entire cities in a matter of days. You remember the test subjects and how they brought down Trassk."

Jay grimaced at the memory of her Trandoshan friend, who had been killed during the escape from the original Whiteclaw base. "All too well. And you think those same test subjects are here?"

"If they are," he said, "they're probably worse."

"Worse?"

He nodded and clenched a single fist. "The test subjects I saw were washouts. Genetic failures. Rejects. The serums they were given drove them insane, made them mindless, rage-filled killing machines."

He gestured to the hologram. "Kalyn mentioned that Whiteclaw is working on viral weaponry. If that's true, it means they've made the test subjects worse. Weaponized them, made them even better at killing."

"So prep for a warzone," Jay sighed. "What else is new?"

"Different warzone this time," he said. "We're dealing with viral contaminants. We need to make sure we aren't influenced by whatever Whiteclaw has cooked up."

He stood from his chair and moved out of the cockpit, gesturing for her to follow. "I've already been infected by Whiteclaw serums for months now, so I'll be fine — more or less. But you should gear up in a pressurized flight suit at the very least. Something thick and tear-resistant."

"Why?"

He gestured vaguely to his mouth, covered by his helmet. "The virus is transmitted by bodily fluids. If someone bites you, you're finished."

"Kriff," Jay sighed. "All right, I'll get into my pilot's gear. It can survive the vacuum of space, so it should hold up against teeth. It has a helmet, too, so it can filter out the airborne chemicals."

He headed into the armory, just off the main corridor, and triggered the lights. They revealed racks of rifles, pistols, and even Vhetin's treasured lightsabers. Beneath those were ammunition crates and cartons of grenades.

"What do you recommend we bring?" Jay asked, grabbing a few clips of tibanna gas for her pistol. "You're armed to the teeth as always, but—"

"Everything," he interjected. He grabbed a pair of pistols, a belt of grenades, and a heavy _beskad_. "Anything. If it kills, bring it"

She scoffed. "That's a hell of a list."

"And we're in for a hell of a fight," he said. "Preliminary scans of the station suggest it can hold a crew of over a thousand. If the virus really has been released, that's potentially a thousand hostiles we're about to fight."

"Oh. Right. So small arms as a last resort, huh?"

He handed her a thin metal cylinder, wrapped with leather and engraved with intricate runes. Status lights blinked along its housing and the contoured grip fit her palm with a strange sense of familiarity.

A lightsaber. _Her_ lightsaber.

She took the weapon from him and activated the blade to check its charge. The hilt kicked gently in her hand and a bar of violet plasma sprang to life in front of her. It hummed warmly, casting amethyst light across the armory.

Vhetin glanced up at the _snap-hiss_ of the saber's ignition. "You've been practicing?"

She nodded, deactivating the weapon and clipping the hilt to her belt. "Every day. I finally managed to beat the training droid's tier-three program."

"Are you ready to use it on people?"

"If I have to."

"That'll have to be enough," he said. He grabbed his saber pike and hooked it to his jetpack, then scooped his rifle into his hands. "So onto more pressing concerns: how are we going to get into a locked-down station?"

Jay frowned, pondering over the dilemma. Then she snapped her fingers and said, "Pirates. They use Wild Space to maneuver outside Imperial control. If we stage an attack on the Star Destroyer, they'll scramble TIE fighters to stop us."

"They won't just blow us out of the sky?"

She shook her head. "The _Ember Hawk_ _'_ s engines are powered down. They're under orders to stay stealthy. If they fire up those engines — or their turbolasers — the energy readings will light up every scanner from here to Hosnia."

"Is that so?"

"You can thank Wild Space," she said, resting her hands on her hips. "There's no traffic here. No habitable systems, no space stations, no shipyards. So if they want to stay quiet, they can't stop us."

He slowly nodded, his helmet bobbing once. "All right, so we attack the Destroyer and they scramble fighters to stop us. Then what?"

"We use _Void_ _'_ s ion cannons to disable two fighters," she said. "We take them and use them to enter the station's hangar. They won't suspect us if we're in TIEs."

"If the virus has been released," he reminded her, "the station is under lockdown. They won't let two pilots inside, even if they're TIEs."

"We'll still get closer than if we're in _Void_. By the time they realize what's happening, they won't be able to stop us. We can use the TIEs to destroy the hangar defenses and blast through."

He nodded and racked back the charging rod of his rifle. "I like it. It's fast and effective. And if we need to exfil, _Void_ is still standing by. Nice work."

She smiled at the praise. "One more reason I'd rather be a navy rat than a stormtrooper any day."

Vhetin was about to grab another belt of grenades when he heard a hailing tone and his helmet-mounted comm buzzed. Normally he would ignore an incoming message so soon before a fight, but this one made him pause. It was Denton Dral's comm code.

He glanced at Jay, who was currently looking between a MandalMotors-issue blaster rifle and a short, compact DC-17, obviously deciding which to bring with her. Why would her boyfriend be calling _him_ before a fight? Shouldn't he be checking in with her?

"I'll be right back," he said. "Got a comm call I have to take."

She didn't look up from her perusal of the rifles. "Everything okay?"

"I think so. I won't take long."

"Make sure you don't. We can't hide out here forever. That Star Destroyer will spot us eventually."

He nodded and stepped out of the armory, sealing the door behind him. He headed into _Void_ 's circular center room and rested a hand on the table there. With a blink of his eyes, he answered the comm call.

"This is Vhetin," he said. "State your business."

It was indeed Denton Dral on the other end of the call. The transmission was garbled and full of static, but his voice was unmistakable. " _I_ _'m glad I caught you before you two went radio silent. It's Denton."_

"I'm aware," Vhetin replied. There was a hard, cold tone to Denton's voice that he didn't like. "Though I'm not used to getting calls from friends mere minutes before battle. I hope this isn't a social call."

" _It_ _'s not. I promise I won't take up much of your precious time."_

Vhetin narrowed his eyes. "All right. Shoot."

" _I heard about what you two are up to,_ _"_ Denton said. " _Taking on Whiteclaw again. Are you sure you know what you_ _'re doing?"_

Despite his better judgment, Vhetin found himself laughing. "A strange question to be asking right now. If you're trying to change my mind, you're not going to succeed."

" _I don_ _'t care about changing your mind. It's Jay that I care about."_

Vhetin's soft chuckle died away. He could tell Denton was in no mood to laugh right now. There was a steel beneath his voice that, even garbled by static, was hard to miss. He was angry. Why, Vhetin could only guess.

"What exactly is your problem?" Vhetin asked, a note of steel entering his own voice now. "And why exactly are you calling?"

" _I want you to know that I_ _'m not happy about you dragging Jay off on another of your escapades, Vhetin. We both know this is more dangerous than usual, and she's no Mandalorian."_

"I distinctly remember Jay bringing this to me. I didn't force her to do anything."

 _"This isn't her fight. If she gets hurt—"_

"Let me stop you right there," Vhetin interjected. "Firstly, I don't _drag_ Jay anywhere. She is perfectly capable of deciding whether or not to join me on my hunts. I appreciate her company, but don't demand it."

" _I don_ _'t—"_

"Secondly, she's more than capable of handling herself. You're right; she's not Mandalorian. But she's one of the best bounty hunters I've ever worked with and she's saved my life more times than I care to count. If that doesn't make her _Mandokarla,_ I don't know what does. She won the _Jaig_ eyes, for kriff's sake."

" _That doesn_ _'t matter."_

"Doesn't it?"

" _It doesn_ _'t. This is different than bounty hunting, Vhetin. This is personal business._ Your _personal business. And I don_ _'t want Jay getting caught up in it."_

"No offense intended," Vhetin said, "but that's not your decision to make."

" _No. No it_ _'s not. That's why I'm coming to you instead of her. I'm not trying to impose my will and force you to leave her out of this. But if she gets hurt because of your crazy adventures, you'll answer to me. With a_ Tal'galar Nari."

Vhetin's eyes widened behind his helmet. A _Tal_ _'galar Nari_ or _Bleeding Action_ was an ancient Mandalorian rite of honor. Mandalorians who had been dishonored could challenge the one who shamed them into a no-holds-barred duel. The duel only ended when one party was too injured to fight any further and admitted defeat. And Mandos rarely admitted defeat, meaning that _Tal_ _'galar Nari'se_ usually ended in death.

When he spoke again, his voice was cold and very quiet. "Are you sure it's wise to try and coerce me like this?"

" _Call it for what it is, Vhetin. A threat._ _"_

"I don't respond kindly to threats."

" _Then that_ _'s your problem. And I'll be a problem as well if you get her hurt._ " Denton's voice was just as cold. " _I may not be a world-renowned bounty hunter like you, but that doesn_ _'t mean I'm not dangerous. You don't want me as your enemy."_

"You're right," Vhetin truthfully replied. "I don't. I respect you Denton. Which is why I don't understand where all of this anger is coming from."

There was silence over the comms for a few too-long seconds. Then Denton simply said, " _Keep her safe or you_ _'ll answer to me. Dral out."_

With a click, the comm cut out and left Vhetin standing in silence. After a few long, thoughtful moments, he stood with a concerned frown and headed back to the armory. Denton's final words stuck with him, even as he rapped his knuckles against the armory door.

The door instantly slid open and Jay poked her head out. She had tied her hair up in a functional bun in preparation for the fight and had strapped a _beskar_ shortsword across her back. Slung over one shoulder, he saw, was the compact DC blaster rifle.

She must have noticed how tense he suddenly was, because she cocked her head and frowned. "Is everything all right?"

He shrugged. "Just a… a weird comm call."

"Anything I should be concerned about?"

He wanted to tell her all about her boyfriend's strange threats — after all, lying to her never turned out well and he may get some answers out of it. But something, some deep-seated instinct drummed into him during his training, told him to leave it be for the time being. It wasn't mission-sensitive, so it could wait.

"Nothing important," he lied. "It can wait."

"Is it something about Tamai?"

"No."

"Janada?"

"No."

She frowned at him deeper, tilting her head back a little and looking at him down her nose the way she did when she was suspicious. But she eventually nodded and said, "All right. Keep your secrets. But we both know I always find these things out sooner or later."

 _Something tells me you_ _'ll find this one out sooner_ , he thought. But he didn't say that. Instead, he gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder and jerked his head for her to follow him out toward the cockpit. She narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion and followed, sealing the armory behind her.

 _Denton_ _'s wrong,_ he thought as they went. _I_ _'m not dragging her anywhere. Jay's not some brainless eopie, following her master wherever he goes. She can think for herself. She was thinking for herself when she agreed to help me._

He glanced at her in his HUD's 360-degree vision as they went and felt a sudden, sickening surge of dread rise in his gut.

 _But that won_ _'t protect her. Not from me, and not from Whiteclaw. Someone who willingly walks into the rancor's maw is still just as dead._

* * *

When they returned to the cockpit, they were each armed with more weapons than either could count. Jay couldn't remember the last time she'd been so bogged down by her gear. She thought back to her navy days, to crash drills where she would have to run for miles laden with survival gear and repair kits to simulate an emergency ejection behind enemy lines. If she remembered it right, it felt similar to this.

 _I wonder_ , she thought as she lugged her rucksack more securely over her shoulders, _if this is what it feels like to be a Mandalorian. I feel like I could cripple an AT-AT with all these guns._

Vhetin, of course, had no such problems with such a loadout. He was as calm, collected, and resolute as ever. Still, she couldn't help but notice how he kept clenching and unclenching his fists; a habit he displayed whenever he was anxious about something.

 _Probably just pre-battle nerves_ , she thought, hefting her rifle into a more secure grip in her hands. _He is going after the people who kidnapped him, after all. That would make anyone nervous. It_ _'s no wonder he wants to bring so many weapons._

Vhetin was also Mandalorian, which meant he was bringing a multitude of weapons simply as a matter of personal pride. When arming up, he had chosen to bring his usual compliment of suit-based weaponry (vambrace blasters, wrist rockets, flamethrowers, and his twin retractable gauntlet blades) as well as his rifle, two pistols and his lightsaber pike. Strapped across his chest was an extra belt of ammunition and a string of fragmentation grenades. He had forgone his jetpack, since it wouldn't be much use within the confines of a space station and instead carried a heavy _beskad_ sword over his shoulder. A pair of high-powered stun prods were strapped to each gauntlet by a roll of adhesive tape so he wouldn't lose them. He had recommended she bring a pair of prods as well, just in case.

"Electricity," he'd said, "is a powerful deterrent to most sentient beings. Not to mention the fact that it dampens a Force-sensitive's powers. Could come in handy."

"Are you expecting to run into any Jedi in this station?" she'd asked, quizzically quirking up an eyebrow.

He had silently handed her the stun prods and hadn't elaborated further.

Jay wasn't exactly wanting for defenses herself. With all of _Void_ 's considerable arsenal at her disposal, she had decided to bring her treasured Verpine pistol, a DC-17 blaster rifle, her own belt of grenades, and two _beskar_ longdaggers that Janada had given her. She had changed from her usual work pants and armorleather jacket into her form-fitting pilot's suit, made from ribbed black material that would (hopefully) keep her safe from any Whiteclaw test subjects. Her helmet, a jet-black variation of a stormtrooper pilot's gear, was tucked under one arm. Strapped to the helmet by more adhesive tape was a small illuminator lamp; it looked like power had been cut to the station, so they would have to get used to fighting in the dark.

With so many weapons on her person, she half-expected that she wouldn't be able to fit through the door to _Void_ 's cockpit. But Vhetin fit through just fine and so did she despite their various loadouts. She absently thought if the entryways had been built wider than normal for just such a reason.

As soon as he was back in the cockpit, her partner returned to the pilot's seat and engaged _Void_ 's stealth systems. Jay felt the deck tremble beneath her feet, and the distant rumble of the engines died away to near silence. The ship's heat sinks engaged and the internal temperature noticeably dropped a few degrees.

Jay let out a long breath she hadn't noticed she was holding. "So are you ready to take on a Star Destroyer?"

"I have to admit," Vhetin said, tapping a few more commands into the control console, "I've never gone after anything this big before."

She scoffed. "You've fought _Sith_ , Cin. Or don't you remember?"

"Sith are people. People can be killed. Star Destroyers, on the other hand, are floating fortresses." He suddenly pushed away from the console and took a step away from the pilot's seat. "That's why I'm stepping down as captain, as it were."

"What?"

"We're going up against a _Star Destroyer_. You're twice the pilot I am, and that's exactly what we need right now. I'd probably end up getting us both killed. I want you to fly us in and get the TIEs to come after us while I take the gunner's seat."

"Are you sure?" She still wasn't convinced. She'd piloted _Void_ a few times, but this was very different. "I-I mean, it's your ship."

"I'm positive," he said. He patted the back of the leather pilot's chair, gesturing for her to take her place in it. "You're familiar with the layout. Besides, my gunnery skills could use some work."

She nodded slowly and settled into the comfortable pilot's seat. She familiarized herself with the layout of the controls, which were at once familiar and foreign. Her own personal ship, _Vengeance,_ was of Mandalorian make, so the setup was not too different from Vhetin's controls. She took the ship off autopilot and warmed the engines the slightest bit. The control yoke fit snugly into the palm of her hand, and she felt the ship tremble beneath her boots. She felt a warm flow of familiarity rush through her at the feeling; this was her element, sitting behind the controls of a warship, ready to engage the enemy at a moment's notice. She was a passable bounty hunter, but as a pilot she was nearly unstoppable.

She took a deep breath, then instantly set to work. Weapon systems had to be charged, transponders had to be masked, and the stealth systems had to be managed. She was in command now, and she'd be damned if _Void_ was shot down on her watch.

"Strap in," she said. With a few deft commands and the flick of a few switches, she powered up the ship's sublight drives and diverted power to the forward deflector shields. She charged the ship's ventral cannons and booted up _Void_ 's countermeasure system. "This is going to get rough really quick."

She could sense Vhetin's smile even through his helmet faceplate. "You ever do anything like this in the navy?"

"Once," she said. She reached up and tapped a command into the console mounted above her head, setting the ship sensors to warn her of incoming hostile contacts. "My squadron was sent after a pirate gang near Kessel. I got cut off from the others by a CR-90 corvette."

"A blockade runner?" Vhetin sounded impressed. "And you only had an interceptor?"

She nodded. "I managed to cripple its shields and cave in its hangar bay so it couldn't scramble any fighters to chase me. Managed to regroup with the rest of my squad before I got into any more trouble."

 _Void_ let out a dull rumble as it slowly picked up speed, heading for the massive triangular bulk of the Star Destroyer ahead of them. Jay settled herself into her seat and buckled up with protective crash webbing. "Something tells me this is going to be even more exciting."

Vhetin chuckled and strapped himself into the gunner's seat. Once he was secure, his chair swiveled and the control console booted up with a series of low buzzes. A readout on Jay's console informed her that the ship's full compliment of weapons were charged and ready to fire.

"Remember," she said as the _Ember Hawk_ drew closer and closer in the front viewport. "We want these TIEs disabled, not destroyed. Don't get too trigger-happy back there."

"Hey," he said in mock-admonishment. "Remember it's me we're talking about here."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

He snorted. "Just focus on not getting killed. We are going up against a city-sized dreadnought after all. I'll play nice with your navy buddies."

"Then get ready. We should be entering the Destroyer's scanner range any second now."

As if on cue, the comm sputtered with static and a crisp, cultured Imperial voice filled the cockpit. " _Unidentified vessel, this is the ISD_ Ember Hawk. _You are entering restricted Imperial space. Shut down your engines and prepare to be boarded for immediate detainment and questioning. Refuse to comply and you will be fired upon._ _"_

Jay triggered _Void_ 's own comms and transmitted back, "ISD _Ember Hawk,_ this is unidentified vessel. We read you five-by-five and will comply."

The comm fizzled out, leaving them in silence once more. Vhetin glanced over his shoulder, out the front viewport. "You think they took the bait?"

She didn't have to answer. Within moments, a full squadron of TIE fighters — a recon party, six ships in all — came screeching from the Destroyer's ventral docking bay. They streaked down through space before leveling out and heading straight for _Void_ , flying in V formation like a flock of birds. Jay watched them draw closer through narrowed eyes, her hands tightening over the controls. If they wanted to pull this off, their timing needed to perfect.

"Here they come," Vhetin muttered. It sounded like he was speaking more to himself than to her.

The TIEs grew closer and closer, until Jay could see the ships' segmented octagonal viewports and the pale blue trails left by their ion drives. As soon as they were close enough, the ships broke over _Void_ 's bow and streaked off into space behind them.

"That's our signal," she said. Before the Imperial ships could turn to face them, she gunned _Void_ _'s_ engines and shot forward through space. The deck bucked hard, almost throwing her from her seat. Vhetin grunted in the seat behind her and _Void_ 's sensors showed the fighter squadron peel around and rocket after them in pursuit.

She bit back a grin. "This is where the fun begins."

 _"Unidentified vessel_ ," the Imperial said over comms. " _Cease evasive maneuvers immediately or you will be fired upon._ _"_

Vhetin responded. " _Sooran shab, aruetii._ _"_

Then he opened up with _Void_ 's full compliment of ion cannons; at Jay's request, they had decided to disable the navy ships rather than destroy them. Crackling blue energy lasers shot through space and exploded against the hexagonal wings of one of the ships. It spiraled out of control, status lights flickering and dying.

Vhetin swiveled in his seat and pulled the cannon triggers again. The next targeted TIE spun gracefully through space, dodging all the attacks. But Vhetin's next volley was too quick, knocking the ship from space and sending it careening into another pursuer. The collision severed both ships' wings and both plummeted away, out of the fight.

The TIEs were obviously tired of playing it safe. As soon as they were within range once more, they opened fire on the hunters' transport. Emerald explosions rocked the ship and the shields drained to 75%. Jay pulled into a tight upward spiral that the Imperial fighters quickly mirrored. They split up as they followed, arcing into two separate groups like hungry razor sharks surrounding their prey.

Jay knew that outmaneuvering the ships was almost impossible. TIEs were the pinnacle of Imperial naval technology and some of the fastest fighters in the galaxy. Even the most common TIEs — like the ones currently pursuing them — were quick, maneuverable, and packed a surprising punch. If they were going to survive this, they needed to disable their pursuers as quickly as possible.

"I'm taking us away from the Star Destroyer," she reported, jerking the controls to starboard and carrying them further and further away from the triangular Imperial warship. The TIEs screeched past the front viewport and quickly swiveled around to follow. Vhetin disabled another ship as they passed, but more turbolaser fire rocked the ship and drained the shields to half capacity.

"Three down," Vhetin grunted, swiveling in the seat to track the fighters. "Three to go."

"If you keep up this pace," Jay said, gritting her teeth as more fire exploded around them, "we're going to need a new ship to get back home."

"You're welcome to switch places any time," Vhetin said, jerking in his seat as more explosions shook the deck. "I told you, my gunnery skills are rusty."

Jay pulled _Void_ into a sharp 180 turn and flew straight for the pursuing TIEs. Green strobe lights lit up the cockpit and the ship rattled dangerously. There was a sharp screeching from somewhere to the rear of the ship, and _Void_ 's monitors blared a warning reporting that the ship had lost a half-meter of armor plating near the engine coils. But Jay's ploy worked; the TIEs were forced to scatter to avoid collision, screeching off into space in a disorderly swarm. A single fighter swiveled faster than the others and stitched _Void_ 's hull with fire.

Vhetin grunted as the ensuing explosion thrashed him about and jerked him hard against his crash webbing. "You do remember that we're trying to _win_ this fight, right?"

"Shut up," she snapped. With a jerk of the control yoke, she sent _Void_ plummeting down through space. The TIEs screeched past them, came about, and quickly followed. "This would be easier if your ship didn't handle like a sun-stroked dewback. You might want to trade up for something a little more maneuverable in the future."

"I'll have you know—" Vhetin swiveled and opened fire at the nearest TIE. The ship arced up and tucked into a tight barrel roll, avoiding all the incoming fire before raking _Void_ 's side with turbolaser bolts. Laser fire popped against the deflectors and the shields drained to 40%.

"I'll have you know," he repeated, "that the Abodel Hypernautics Coproration is at the forefront of interstellar transport tech."

"You're kidding yourself," she shot back. A TIE raced into sight, firing wildly with both ventral lasers, and Jay swiveled the port to avoid the incoming fire. A control console near her popped and began throwing sparks into the air. "Incom is hands-down the best hypernautics company out there. Have you even _seen_ their designs for that new X-wing fighter?"

Another explosion rocked the cockpit and Vhetin shouted, "We can debate ship manufacturers later! Focus on keeping _my_ ship in one piece!"

"Fine." She grimaced and reached to the control console. "Standby," she said. "I'm reversing thrusters. Prepare to fire on my mark."

He nodded, fingers hovering over the gunnery station's triggers. A half-second later, she depressed a pedal and yanked the ship into a tight spiral the TIEs were hard-pressed to follow. Before they could get too far ahead, however, she yanked the yoke back and _Void_ came to a jarring halt.

The Imperial fighters shot out in front of them, unable to slow down in time. The screeching howl of their engines filled the cockpit as the four remaining ships darted out in front of them, propelled on lines of blue fire as they fought to bring their ships to a halt and turn to face their enemy. Vhetin opened fire before they could, and another ship flew off course, the hull crackling with lightning.

"Target down," he reported. "Two left."

She heard the ion cannons snap and another TIE went spiraling out of sight with a warbling, stuttering screech. The final TIE rolled and fired, shearing another meter of armor from the other side of the ship and draining the shields completely. Jay wasted no time in gunning the engines and darting off into space again.

"I just repaired the rear deflectors last week," Vhetin snapped from the back seat. "If that pilot manages to knock them out again, the repair fees are coming out of your next bounty cut."

"Stop backseat piloting!" Jay pushed the engines to full capacity and _Void_ shot forward. Jay watched the Star Destroyer shrink into the distance behind them. The space station couldn't even be seen now.

" _This is TIE pilot Echo-Five_. _Shut off your engines and prepare to be boarded!_ _"_

"I could tell you the same thing," Vhetin said. He was about to fire, but the final TIE had one last trick up its sleeve.

A shockwave of orange light bloomed from the Imperial ship's ventral cannons and twin cones of fire-colored light streaked through space toward them. All the lights in the cockpit flashed red and a loud alarm blared.

"Proton torpedoes!" Vhetin shouted. "Take evasive action!"

"Evading." Jay jerked the controls and sent _Void_ flying off to starboard, spinning as it went. The proton torpedoes arced wide through space and came about to race after them. They were locked on to the heat of the ship's engines now.

"I'm switching to turbolasers," Vhetin reported. "Ion cannons won't take those things out."

A second later, scarlet laser bolts began slicing through space toward the torpedoes. They flashed and exploded around the blazing cones of light, but didn't destroy them. Jay kept up her erratic flight pattern, watching as the consoles around her reported the torpedoes quickly closing in on them.

"Cin, the rear deflectors are failing," she said. "If those torpedoes hit, we're finished!"

"I'm trying to take them out!" he shouted over the din of turbolaser fire. "This isn't as easy as it is in the holovids, you know!"

"I'm deploying countermeasures," she said. She flicked a switch and a heavy _thunk_ rocked the deck beneath them. A second later, shimmering bits of scrap metal began fluttering through space, falling from hidden compartments scattered about _Void_ 's hull. The proton torpedoes were hard-pressed to maneuver the glittering metallic cloud, and one of the missiles suddenly detonated in a bright ball of light.

Jay punched the air and shouted, "Hoo-ah! One down."

Her elation was short-lived; the cry had barely fallen from her lips before the green turbolaser fire of their TIE pursuer returned. The ship had kept up the pursuit and now raked fire down _Void_ _'s_ starboard side.

"Cin," she said, trying and failing to hit the release for more chaff. "You need to deal with that torpedo. We still have a TIE on our tail, and it won't be long before the Star Destroyer sends reinforcements."

"I'm… trying." The Mandalorian's voice was tight with concentration. He was firing in staggered bursts now, trying to catch the torpedo before it could spin or roll to avoid him. Jay noticed that the torpedo would be on top of them within seconds.

"Cin…"

He said nothing.

Jay grimaced against the flash of TIE fighter blasters. "Cin!"

Still nothing. He was hunched over the command console, fists clenched over the controls. The torpedo was so close now that it was glowing in the heat of _Void_ _'s_ engine exhaust.

" _Cin Vhetin if you don_ _'t shoot that kriffing torpedo_ —"

He fired. The turbolasers snapped once, then again. Jay was suddenly jerked forward against her restraints as the torpedo detonated behind them, the force of the explosion sending _Void_ spinning wildly through space. Even their TIE pursuer couldn't keep them in sight.

Her hands danced over the controls, frantically trying to bring the ship back under control. The stars spun wildly outside, fast enough to make Jay nauseous. Behind her, she saw Vhetin grasping the sides of the gunnery console in an attempt to remain in his seat. The entire ship trembled and from somewhere to their rear she heard the screech of tortured, rending metal.

"Hang on!" she shouted, and gunned the engines forward to 200%. Their hectic spiral continued for a moment before it finally began leveling out. _Void_ rocketed through space, faster than ever before: Jay saw they were exceeding speeds of ten thousand meters per second.

She saw a flash of steel gray as their trajectory send them flying straight for the last remaining TIE. At these speeds, it couldn't hope to pull away in time. She gritted her teeth and desperately yanked the control yoke to the side, trying to spin the ship out of the way. The cockpit was filled with the blaring klaxon of a proximity alert.

A jarring concussion rocked the ship and tossed her hard against her crash webbing. Behind her, she heard a loud tearing sound as Vhetin's webbing gave out completely under the heavy bulk of his armor. He crashed forward hard against the gunnery console and sprawled to the floor of the cockpit with a clatter of armor plating.

Through the front viewport, she saw the TIE fighter spiraling away from the ship with only one wing; collision with _Void_ 's spearhead-shaped hull had severed the other. The Imperial ship flew out of sight, its engines letting out a coughing stutter as it went.

Within a span of moments, it was all over. The alarms fell silent, the lights returned to their normal hue, and the stars stopped spinning out the front viewport.

Jay slumped forward, over the control console, and buried her head in her hands. "Oh, kriff me. Let's not do that again any time soon."

She heard a groan from the floor and glanced over to see Vhetin gingerly rising back to his feet, holding his helmeted head with one hand.

"Don't worry," he grunted. "Next bounty we hunt, I'm flying."

She scoffed indignantly. "I thought I did pretty well!"

He said nothing, just reached down and picked up the broken rangefinder from his helmet, which had snapped when he'd fallen from his seat. He glanced at her, shook it for accusatory emphasis, then turned and limped out of the cockpit without another word.

* * *

Their theft of the TIEs was quick and efficient. It needed to be; the Star Destroyer was already scrambling reinforcements to track them down, so time was of the essence. Within minutes they had locked on to the Imperial fighters, extricated the pilots from their disabled ships, and sent them flying off toward the _Ember Hawk_ in one of _Void_ 's escape pods. Once they were both secure in their stolen ships, Vhetin set _Void_ to flee their current system with full stealth systems engaged. She would wait for them some distance away, where the Imperials wouldn't be able to sense her presence.

Vhetin strapped himself in to the tight, cramped Imperial fighter. He had to adjust himself more than once to make sure his guns weren't sticking uncomfortably into his hip, and his pike had to be jammed cross-ways behind the seat in order to fit.

He grunted and triggered his helmet comm. "You seriously used to fly one of these things for a living?"

" _Hell yeah,_ _"_ Jay replied over comms. _"Best ships I've ever flown in. Granted I was in an Interceptor, not a normal fighter, but—"_

Vhetin grimaced and shifted in his seat again. The crash webbing could barely reach across his chest. "What's the difference?"

 _"More leg room._ "

"That's it?"

" _Well I could go on about the upgraded ion engines, the arrow-shaped collection panels, and the quad-arrayed SFS cannons, but we_ _'re on a tight schedule. So yeah. Leg room."_

He grunted. "Nice to hear you're keeping in high spirits."

" _Just waiting for the inevitable plunge into chaos and despair that always comes about on missions with you, big guy._ _"_

He finally succeeded in strapping himself in just as the ship's lights warmed once more. Power had been restored and the fighter was no longer disabled. He ran a quick diagnostic check, syncing his HUD systems up with the fighter. He flexed his fingers before reaching out and grasping the control yoke.

"All right," he murmured. "So… how exactly do you fly one of these things?"

There was a moment of shocked static over his helmet comm. Then Jay said, " _You mean to tell me that Cin Vhetin — one of the best bounty hunters in the Mandalore system and the scourge of Imperial forces everywhere — has never been behind the stick of a TIE fighter?_ "

He shifted uncomfortably. "Well… no. Not really."

A sigh from his partner. " _All right, I_ _'ll walk you through it. We're not going to war here, so flying it should be simple enough. Do you feel the two foot pedals beneath the main console?"_

"Yeah."

" _Those are your accelerators. There_ _'s one for each engine, to help make for more maneuverable turns and spins. You use them in conjunction with the left and right control columns to control pitch and yaw. The control columns also have built-in weapon triggers: the index triggers control cannons, thumb triggers control torpedoes."_

Vhetin's lips were pressed into a tight line. "This is very complicated."

She continued. " _Now the big difference is that a TIE is lighter and much faster than your average fighter. Combine that with no life support and no shields—_ "

"And it's basically a flying death trap, got it," he interrupted. "We can save the rest of the crash course for later. We have to move."

" _Wait, I_ _'m not done_ —"

In retrospect, he should have waited.

He depressed both foot triggers and the world suddenly lurched forward, so fast that for a moment he was sure his neck had snapped from the whiplash. The control columns in each hand locked up and the TIE began spinning wildly. In his adrenaline-fueled terror, he somehow managed to depress every trigger within reach, and his TIE lit up with light as it fired both ventral turbolaser cannons, torpedo launchers, and every countermeasure system available.

A second later he began screaming.

* * *

Jay didn't think she had ever laughed so hard in her life. One moment Cin's TIE had been floating serenely in space next to hers, its engines slowly warming with a building howl. The next second he had shot off ahead of her, spinning uncontrollably and firing every weapon the TIE boasted.

She was laughing so hard, she found it difficult to control her own ship as she gunned the engines and swooped after him. He was heading in the general direction of the Imperial station, but if he continued to fly like this he would plow into its side rather than landing safely in the hangar bay.

She triggered her comms and her cockpit was instantly filled with the sounds of Vhetin's screams. She grimaced, fighting back more laughter, and raised her voice. "Cin! Cin, listen to me!"

" _It_ _'s not doing anything!"_ the Mandalorian shouted. " _I_ _'m trying the controls and it's not_ doing _anything!_ _"_

"Cin—"

 _"Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit!"_

His TIE jerked, then released a brilliant plume of anti-missile flares that lit up space around them with a bright red glow. A second later two bright red proton torpedoes launched from the ship's underbelly, streaking off into space.

"Foot pedals!" Jay shouted. "Use the foot pedals!"

" _I_ am _using the foot pedals!_ _"_

The TIE continued to spin out of control, and both ion engines were flickering wildly as the pilot randomly depressed the engine pedals. The ship rocketed through space, heading straight for the space station. Jay yanked back on the flight yoke and gracefully flew over the top of Vhetin's spiraling fighter until she was racing along its starboard side.

" _I_ _'m going to kriffing throw up in my helmet. I'm going to kriffing throw up in my helmet! That's like a Mandalorian's worst nightmare!"_

"Cin, listen to me. I'm going to try and level you out. Keep depressing _both_ pedals, but let go of the control yokes."

" _Done!_ _"_

She maneuvered up next to the out of control TIE as closely as she could manage. Then, gritting her teeth, she jerked the control columns to the side and smashed her ship against Vhetin's.

" _What the—!_ _"_

His ship spiraled off to the side, but the spin was beginning to slow. She flew closer and did it again, hitting him from the opposite direction of his spin.

" _This isn_ _'t better,"_ he cried over comms. " _Jay, this isn_ _'t better!"_

She ignored him, smashing the ship again and grinding one hexagonal solar-collector wing against his until his ship finally leveled out — upside-down. Once she was sure the ship was at least partially under control, she triggered comms again.

"All right," she sighed, still stifling giggles. "Now before you take the controls, hit the glowing red button over your head. Those are the ships engine stabilizers. I was about to warn you about that when you took off like some kind of podracer."

" _What_ _… oh."_ His voice was slow and sheepish. She could almost feel his blush, even through the void of space. " _Red button. Right._ _"_

"You hit it?"

" _Yeah._ _"_

"Okay. Now take the controls _slowly_. A TIE fighter is one of the fastest, most maneuverable ships in the galaxy. You need to take everything slowly."

His ship rocked violently as he took the controls, then stabilized and rotated to face right side up. She watched with a raised eyebrow and a smile, then asked, "How's that?"

" _Better_ _…_ " his voice was still shaking. " _Better, I think._ "

"Good. Because after that little display, we need to get to the station fast. The Imperials must have been blind if they missed you shooting flares and torpedoes off in every direction."

His voice was barely a murmur. " _Sorry_."

She laughed again. "Just follow my lead. I'll get you to that station in one piece."

* * *

Had anyone been stationed in the station's hangar bay, they would have been assaulted by blaring proximity alarms and the telltale roar of turbolaser engines. They would have seen the entire area painted in flashing red and yellow lights, would have heard a mechanized voice warn of impending attack.

They would have felt the deck shake beneath their feet and seen sparks fly from the ceiling. Pipes were twisted and wrenched from the ceiling, spewing coolant smoke across the floor. The lights flickered and popped, then died completely.

Had anyone been stationed in the hangar bay, they would have been quite amazed to see an Imperial-issue TIE fighter come rocketing through the bay's force field — weakened by turbolaser fire — and slam hard into the durasteel floor. One of the solar collector panels snapped from the ship's housing and spun wildly through the air. It crashed into a powered-down binary loadlifter, severing the droid in half and continuing its flight until it embedded itself in the wall.

The wingless TIE skidded wildly across the hangar, scraping deep furrows in the metal floor and showering sparks across the entire room. Several fuel pods in the TIE's path exploded, crushed under the fighter's rampant hull. The ship screeched to the rear of the bay — losing its other wing in the process — and slammed hard into the wall.

At a slower, more controlled pace came another TIE fighter. Unlike the first, this TIE fighter glided elegantly into the hangar, rotated, and settled down on its solar collector wings. A manipulator claw extended from the ceiling and pulled the TIE up into its storage rack high above. With a deep _clank_ it locked in place with the other TIEs stored there. A black-clad pilot clambered up and out of the cockpit, a heavy rucksack over her shoulder, and sprinted for the crashed TIE.

Had anyone been stationed in the hangar bay, they would have seen the woman skid to a halt next to the fighter and bang her fist against the cracked transparisteel viewport. Her voice was tight with fear, her expression no doubt just as scared behind the faceplate of her helmet.

"Cin!" she shouted. "Cin, are you all right?"

There was silence for a moment. Then a glowing blue bar of plasma speared through the viewport. The woman let out a surprised squeak and hopped back, out of the way. The blue blade carved up and around the edge of the viewport in a full circle, until the viewport separated and crashed to the floor. A second later, a black-armored Mandalorian toppled from the cockpit and crashed to the floor as well. He remained, face-down on the floor with his lit saber pike still clutched in his hands.

The brown-haired woman let out a sigh of relief and rested her forearms on her thighs. "Thank the Force you're okay."

"Okay?" the armored man said. He let out a weak-sounding laugh. "I think I shit my pants."

"That's common in rookie TIE pilots during their first run in the seat. We call it the _Screech and Bleach_."

The man groaned and put a hand to the back of his helmeted head. "I have never been so scared in my life. And I once took a contract hunting Tarentateks on Belsavis."

The woman reached down to grab him under his arms and, with a groan, hauled him up off the ground. "On your feet, big guy. We've still got work to do."

He planted his pike against the ground and leaned on it. "Right. Right. Nice, solid combat work. On the ground. Away from that kriffing TIE fighter."

Jay glanced at the crippled starfighter, which was now spewing smoke from more than one vent. "Something tells me that TIE isn't going to be spaceworthy any time soon."

"Good." He patted her shoulder in thanks and scooped his rucksack up from the ground. "Very good."

Had anyone been stationed in the hangar bay, they would have seen the two heft their weapons and set off into the station, leaving the crashed and smoking TIE fighter sitting forlorn and forgotten amidst the wreckage of its entry. But no one did see.

Normally the area would have been bustling with activity. Equipment techs would have been scurrying about with arc welders and plasma torches, performing spot repairs and placing the final finishing touches on outgoing fighters. Stormtroopers would have patrolled back and forth, escorting black-clad pilots to their ships. Mouse droids would have skittered across the floors, squeaking and tittering as they wound through the legs of passerby.

Yet there was no one present. No techs, no stormtroopers, and no mouse droids. The bay was completely deserted, save for a puddle of dark blood by one of the exit doors and a red-stained stormtrooper helmet resting, overturned and abandoned, next to it.


	6. Blackwing Station

The station was dark, quiet, and as still as a graveyard. Most of the doors were sealed and immovable, painted with red warning lights suggesting the rooms beyond were either unsafe or dangerously depressurized. The rest grated open with screeching wails, tossing sparks across the floor and trembling in their housing. Blood stained the ground here and there, and Jay accidentally stumbled over an abandoned stormtrooper helmet tossed casually to the floor. It clattered away loudly as her boot hit the scuffed and dirty plastoid. She cursed at the loud noise that suddenly filled the hall and echoed away down the dead and dark corridor.

"Sorry,"she quickly apologized. "I didn't see it. Peripheral vision isn't too great in these Imperial helmets."

"It's okay," Vhetin said. She noticed how tightly his fingers clenched over his rifle grip and knew his assurance wasn't as sincere as he meant it to be. "Just keep an eye on the ground from now on. We can't risk alerting anyone nearby. We don't know who's lurking around here."

"I have to admit," she muttered as they continued down the hall, "I thought we'd have been attacked by now. If the virus was released, wouldn't you think we'd have seen signs of infection by now? I mean, there aren't even any bodies."

Vhetin grunted in agreement. "Something isn't right. The station's too quiet. Mechanized habitats like this almost always have some kind of ambient noise."

"You think it's the virus?" Jay had donned her flight suit's helmet — a helmet not dissimilar to the stormtrooper bucket she had just stumbled over — and was thus insulated from any airborne contaminants. But the thought of such a virus running rampant was still a nerve-wracking thought for the both of them. "If enough people were infected, station maintenance would slow down. Stuff would stop working pretty quickly without the engineering teams keeping things running."

Ahead of her, her partner shrugged. His rifle drifted slowly across the hall, following his field of vision as he scanned for hostile targets. "I don't know. The virus I remember worked quickly and efficiently. But the test subjects that were exposed to it were… violent. Uncontrollable. If they were here, they wouldn't be hiding."

"Should we go for a search and destroy approach? We certainly have the hardware and ammunition for it."

"No. Kalyn's still on the station somewhere. Until we make contact, we need to assume there are still survivors."

"And if she's been infected too?" Just speaking the words sent a sick curl through Jay's stomach. As rough and hard-edged as the woman was, she was still a friend. It would be a sad day indeed if she'd succumbed to this plague.

Ahead of her, Vhetin said nothing.

Her breathing seemed to rebound within the confines of her helmet, harsh and rasping to her own ears. The silence of the station outside her sealed armor seemed to invade everything, pressing in around her like a living thing and leaving her with an uncomfortable, claustrophobic sense of unease. It was as if something was lurking behind every corner, staring at her every time she turned her back. The sensation set her heart racing in her chest, and she could feel a prickly tickle of sweat breaking out across her forehead.

"This place reminds me of the old Crawzan House back on Corellia _,_ _"_ she breathed, more to herself than to her partner.

But Vhetin heard anyway. He half-turned to her and tilted his helmet in curiosity. "Local dump?"

"Haunted house, actually." Her jaw tightened as they rounded a corner and found yet another empty hall filled with that suffocating sense of unease. "The local kids would dare each other to go up and stare in the windows. See if we could see any ghosts."

"Did you?"

She shook her head. "It was just an old, falling-apart residential pod from back before the Clone Wars. Old Mrs. Crawzan was a war widow and never really cared about anything that happened in the outside world after her husband was announced KIA."

She shrugged to mask the shiver running down her spine. "She was the only real ghost there."

"And what about here?" her partner inquired. "What do your instincts tell you?"

"They tell me," she murmured, "that this isn't your run-of-the-mill haunted house. The ghosts in this place are awake. And they don't like visitors."

"You should write that down. That's a good line for a daytime holodrama."

She rolled her eyes, smirking at her partner despite her unease. "Shut up."

The illuminator taped to the side of her bucket sent a brilliant shaft of light dancing across the walls, ceiling, and floor wherever she looked. There wasn't much to see; signs on the walls informed them they were in the housing wing of the station, devoted to living quarters for the local crew. But the squalor of the area suggested that no one had lived here in quite some time — or at least not lived well.

It seemed the Empire didn't care much for the crew's living conditions aboard the station. The floor was dirty and slick with condensation while the walls and ceiling were a mess of tangled coolant tubes and ventilation pipes. A thick layer of dust and grime coated every surface, and the eerie flickering lights overhead did nothing to lessen the sinister ambiance of the place. It looked more like the kind of station a Weequay team or a litter of Gammoreans would call home.

She let out a short huff of breath. "I guess the navy's fallen behind on maintenance a bit since I was serving with the Empire. I never had to stay somewhere this gross during my piloting days."

"It looks like this on purpose," Vhetin said. He took a cautious step forward, avoiding a puddle of leaking coolant fluid on the floor. "If anyone infiltrated the station, it would look like your average pirate installation or smuggling base. Nothing like a top-secret Imperial research facility."

"But who _would_ stumble across this place? It's not exactly like it's a short jaunt off the Hydian Way."

"Kalyn found it. And managed to sneak in on her own."

She bit her lip. "I guess you have a point. So where is everyone?"

Her partner tilted his head thoughtfully. "Remind me: what's standard Imperial procedure when a space station or Star Destroyer is overrun with hostiles?"

Jay frowned behind her helmet, wracking her brain and thinking back to her navy training. "Well it would depend on the hostiles. If it was pirates, an immediate counteroffensive would be set up. Stormtroopers would be mobilized to fight back, and the local TIE garrison would be scrambled to deal with any spaceborne threats."

"And if the hostiles were a superior unknown force? Like a first contact scenario?"

First contact scenarios — where Imperial forces discovered previously unknown intelligent life forms — were rare these days. But Jay still remembered drilling for such a contingency during her days in the Academy. They were actually among the more exciting of the navy training sessions she had endured.

"Well… if we came under attack from a superior unknown force, we would fall back to preset safe zones set up by the local stormtrooper forces. We'd send out an emergency SOS beacon and wait for reinforcements. Hold out as long as we can, record everything we can for posterity and later victory otherwise."

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "And if no reinforcements were coming? If that SOS wasn't allowed to be sent?"

Her eyes slowly widened. Of course a station this secret wouldn't send out an emergency beacon. They wouldn't tell the crew, of course, but they also wouldn't allow their research to spill out into the public.

"Then the survivors would be trapped in the safe zones. At least until they were overrun."

He nodded. "So where would these safe zones be?"

"Um…" she wracked her brain, trying to call forth every scrap of information her old navy drill sergeant had shouted at her. "Anywhere with mission-critical resources. Food, water, medical supplies, you know. The mess hall is the best place to start."

Vhetin gestured for her to move up and take point. "To the mess hall it is, then. Lead the way."

As she moved to the lead, she couldn't help but notice the tense hunch of her partner's shoulders and they way his chest was rising and falling with short, anxious breaths. She could feel the unease radiating off of him and could see the way his aim quivered slightly; uncommon for him. She frowned and decided to voice such concerns.

"You seem tenser than usual."

"I'm fine," he responded. It sounded like he said it through gritted teeth.

"I can tell you're not."

He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping for a moment before he returned to his earlier battle-ready hunch. "It's just… it's difficult being back here. Knowing what we're going up against. Knowing just what's hidden in this place. It already reminds me of the Facility."

His voice took on a cold, hollow note. "I never thought I'd wind up coming _back_ to Whiteclaw."

"We're coming back to burn it all to the ground," Jay reminded him. "You're hardly volunteering to become their prisoner again."

"They managed to take me down once before. They could do it again."

"No they can't," she said. "Because this time I'm here too. And this time I'm not going to leave you behind."

He slowed a bit behind her, looking at her with a curious tilt to his helmeted head. He hesitated for only a few seconds before setting off after her again and matching her pace. When he spoke his voice was quiet and carefully controlled, as if he was trying to hold something back.

"Thanks, Jay."

She reached over and tapped her fist against his shoulder pad in a sign of solidarity. "I'm right here with you, Cin. Like it or not."

"I think… I definitely like it. I don't know if I'd be able to do this without you. I'm glad you're here."

"Remember that the next time you decide to get all moody and refuse to talk to me for days on end."

"Copy that. In the meantime, let's get moving. These empty halls are giving me the creeps."

" _Oya_ to that." Jay let out a sigh as they picked up their pace. "I have a bad feeling about all of this."

* * *

Jay's bad feeling turned out to be well-founded. Five minutes later, she was gagging quietly in the corner of the mess hall, silently praying not to throw up in her helmet. She couldn't take the helmet off without being infected by the airborne virus, but ripping her bucket off was currently the one thing she wanted more than anything else.

Before entering the mess hall, Vhetin had scanned the interior and reported no life signs within. In fact, his helmet scanners didn't pick up any life signs anywhere within its considerable range. The station, which boasted a crew compliment of over a thousand, seemed to have utterly abandoned the housing wing.

Then the mess hall doors opened and a tight wave of bile instantly rose in Jay's throat. She tried to bite back her words lest her stomach rebel further, and she managed only to croak out a strangled, "Oh god," before turning away from the scene before her.

The mess hall was the site of a massacre. Bodies were strewn everywhere, piled up on tables or crammed into corners. Blood splattered every available surface — even the ceiling in some places — and the floor was slick with viscera and gore. It looked like a rampaging acklay had been let loose on the poor occupants within and then a faulty painter droid had doused the entire area with a coat of thick red paint.

"What the hell happened here?" Jay gasped, still not trusting herself to turn around.

She heard heavy footfalls behind her as Vhetin took a step inside. She hazarded a glance over her shoulder to see him kneel next to the nearest corpse, a gray-clad officer sprawled face down on the blood-slicked floor. The Mandalorian hoisted the body up and over, onto its back, to reveal that the man's chest had been brutally ripped apart. His throat was a mass of torn, twisted flesh, his eyes still stretched wide in terror. And poking out from a tear in the stomach of his gore-soaked uniform were what looked like thick grayish ropes of—

Jay turned away again, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths while her stomach rolled violently in her gut. The stifling need to remove her helmet only grew worse.

"He's been dead for a while," she heard Vhetin murmur. "But he wasn't killed with blasters or blades. These are teeth marks."

"You think…" Jay swallowed with difficulty. "You think the test subjects got him?"

"I know it," her partner replied. "Some of the bodies here show signs of infection. Mucus under the nose and in the corners of the mouth. Burst blood vessels in the eyes. Some of them even bit through their own tongues."

She held out a hand. "Please… please stop. I don't want to hear any more."

Her partner stepped further into the carnage, raking his helmeted gaze over the area. Most of the bodies were piled up near the doors or corners, sprawled on top of each other like someone had casually tossed them there. Or, more likely, they had all died together, clamoring to escape or fight back against their attackers. Scattered between these knots of corpses were the infected. They were lankier than the rest, little more than walking skeletons hidden behind a layer of skin stretched tight, draped in the tattered remains of Imperial uniforms. Some looked like they had been gunned down, while others still had vibroblades buried in their bodies.

"Something isn't right," he murmured, a frown creasing his helmeted features. He knelt next to one of the infected corpses and cocked his head. "I count twenty dead Imperials, but only five infected. That's not enough to cause this much destruction."

"Maybe…" he heard Jay gulp audibly behind him. "Maybe the other infected ran off once the fighting was done?"

"Maybe…" Vhetin echoed. He gingerly reached forward and pried open the jaws of the corpse at his feet. It didn't come easy; rigor mortis had long since set in, and the corpse was as stiff as a board. With a wrench, the jaws finally parted to reveal a bloody mouth full of cracked yellow teeth.

He frowned deeper when he tilted the head back into the light and saw that the corpse's mouth was crammed full of meat. _Human_ meat. It was not a pretty sight. Normally he'd deduce that this was what killed the man — even infected could choke to death, after all — but the charred blaster burn in his forehead suggested otherwise.

"Strange…" he murmured, then moved to another nearby infected. It was the same: the mouth was stuffed with bloody flesh, as if the infected man had died mid-meal. Only this meal had been another human. The uninfected bodies showed signs of being fed upon as well.

"It's not right," he eventually said after finishing his perusal of the massacre. "The Whiteclaw virus I remember didn't induce any cannibalistic tendencies in its subject. But it looks like that's what all these infected Imperials were doing when they were killed."

"You're… you're saying they were _eating_ each other?"

"Yeah. This one looks like he was taking bites out of his own arm before someone gunned him down."

Jay let out a wrangled little moan, then staggered into a deserted corner and doubled up, holding her stomach and desperately trying to hold back a disgusted gag. He let her remain there, too focused on the battlefield laid out in front of him. He stepped through the carnage and the piles of bodies, holding out a hand and tracing a pattern through the air while he pieced together the scene of the crime.

The walls were pocked with blood splatters and blaster burns in equal measure, signs of a frantic firefight. Dinnerware was still set on the tables, complete with blood-soaked food. The station's nutrition service workers were dead, slumped over the main providing line with evidence of both blaster shots and teeth marks marring their corpses. They all showed signs of infection.

 _Not surprising,_ Vhetin said. _If the food service workers were infected, they would have passed it to anyone taking refuge here. These people all carried the virus, though some cases were more reactive than others. Which meant they were all exposed at more or less the same time. A side-effect of the outbreak, maybe? If it got into the ventilation system like Kalyn said_ _…_

Whatever had happened here had happened fast. Someone — several someones from the look of it — had probably succumbed to the sickness and began attacking their compatriots. The rest of the people trapped in the mess hall had panicked, attacking with reckless abandon and killing as many uninfected as attackers. The infected had quickly overwhelmed their prey and fed heartily before moving on, leaving only the dead behind.

Jay finally seemed to get her stomach under control and hazarded a glance over her shoulder. Her hands were still shaking and her voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper. "So… so what do you think?"

"I think we're looking at about ten, maybe fifteen more hostiles than the dead ones here," Vhetin said. "Where they are now, I can only guess."

"Think they're nearby?"

He stood, brushing his hands off. "The Whiteclaw serum violently deforms the hypothalamus and breaks down serotonin absorption in the human brain, leading to aggressive, animalistic behavior. Whatever infected attacked these people probably left to hunt down more ah… prey. We'll probably run across more scenes like this before we're done here."

Jay let out a groan and turned away again, hands once more cupping her gut. "Okay. Forget I asked."

Vhetin was about to say more when his helmet sensor let out a high-pitched ping. He felt icy adrenaline flood his system as tiny yellow dots showed up on his motion tracker, pulsing as they approached.

Life forms. Closing in on them from the east. Maybe hostiles, maybe not.

He quickly raised his rifle and called to his partner. "Jay, head's up. Contacts at seven o'clock."

She groaned, but drew her pistol and headed to cover behind an overturned table. She slipped a little in the blood that covered the floor, staining her flight suit's knees with a thick coat of crimson. Then she crouched lower and tucked her pistol close to her shoulder, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

Vhetin, meanwhile, pressed himself against the door, deactivated lightsaber pike raised to shoulder-level and ready for a quick activation and attack. He could hear the swift staccato rhythm of footsteps outside the door, drawing closer and closer. There was definitely someone out there, heading straight for the mess hall. Vhetin tensed, pressing himself as tightly against the wall as he could manage.

The door hissed open.

What emerged through the entryway was moving so quickly, it was almost a blur. It was hunched low to the ground, scurrying on all fours and accompanied by short, ragged huffs of breath that rattled up from a slack-jawed mouth full of crooked and broken teeth. Tattered gray scraps of what used to be an officer's uniform hung from its gangly frame, waving and flapping as it scurried into the mess hall. Vhetin caught a glimpse of bloodshot eyes and thick tendrils of drool leaking from the side of twitching, bloodstained lips.

Vhetin had seen all he needed. He yelled, "Contact!" and activated his lightsaber. The _snap-hiss_ of the energy blade made the creature flinch and spin toward him. As soon as it saw him, its bloodshot eyes stretched wide and it let out a screeching inhuman howl.

Vhetin darted forward without hesitation, swinging the blade down and aiming for the creature's neck. He missed. The infected man hopped back with unnatural speed, out of the way, and scrambled off deeper into the mess hall. As it passed, Jay leaped up from her cover and fired off two shots that popped against the creature's shoulders and chest. It flinched, thrown off balance from the force of the shots, but didn't stop.

"Don't let it get away!" Vhetin shouted. He took off after it, holding his lightsaber down and to the right in a trained combat stance.

The infected man was faster than Vhetin thought. Before the hunters could catch up, it darted through one of the other mess hall exit doors, skidded in a mess of flailing limbs on the bloody floor, and disappeared down a side hall. Vhetin could hear its thudding footsteps and its strained, rattling screech as it went.

Jay threw herself through the door first, sweeping the hall with her pistol before taking off in the direction of the noise. Vhetin was right on her heels, his humming sapphire blade casting pale blue illumination across the dirty walls.

"What the kriff _is_ that thing?" Jay shouted as they ran.

Vhetin shook his head and said nothing. This wasn't like the Whiteclaw he remembered. The infected patients in the Facility had never been so fast or so coordinated. This creature seemed to be just as comfortable leaping from place to place on all fours as it was sprinting along on two legs. It was no longer a man but a beast.

Their chase led them through maintenance bays, crew barracks, and even a laundry room. All were full of blood and bodies the same as the mess hall. It seemed this was the feeding grounds; there were areas piled so high with half-eaten corpses that they could not have been naturally made. There were veritable mountains of corpses piled high to the ceiling, like some macabre network of walls constructed of corpses rather than bricks. The infected were clearly taking their kills back to their "home" to save for later.

The infected officer threw itself through a door ahead of them, then whirled around a corner and vanished, still screeching and croaking as it went. Vhetin made it around the corner first, his face a dark mask of determination. With a huff, he forced all the breath from his lungs in preparation for a long-range attack.

He skidded to halt and turned sideways, hefting his pike to shoulder level and stretching out his other arm as a counterbalance. His HUD sighted in on the fleeing infected, giving him a targeting reticle showing a good shot. Vhetin clenched his jaw, then took a step forward and and threw his pike like an ancient Mandalorian battle spear.

The weapon sailed through the air with a malevolent hum, its glowing blade sending bright cascades of light across the dingy walls and floor. Then the light disappeared as the blade sunk hilt-deep into the creature's back.

The response was instantaneous. A flash of sparks, a sizzle of plasma, and the creature twitched, flailed, and crashed to the ground, skating across the bloodstained floor until its momentum died away. Its gangly arms and legs twitched and scrabbled at the floor and it let out a pathetic, warbling croak. Its sunken chest rose and fell with such incredible rapidity Vhetin was amazed it hadn't already passed out from hyperventilation. Then it shuddered and fell still. Within the blink of an eye, everything fell still and silent once more.

Jay skidded to a halt next to her partner, her breath rasping hard and fast over her helmet's vocoder. She didn't lower her pistol, nor did she take her eyes off the limp mass on the floor in front of them, the humming lightsaber pike still jutting out of its back.

"Is… is it dead?"

"I don't know." Vhetin ejected one of his gauntlet blades with a flick of his wrist and took a step closer. "Cover me. I'm going to take a closer look."

Jay followed at a more subdued pace, hanging back to ensure she had a clear shot at the creature on the floor. Vhetin drew near enough to touch the infected, reached out, and wrenched his pike from the creature's back. The blade deactivated with a hiss and he clipped it back to the storage clamps set against his back plate.

The deformed creature did not move.

With slow and cautious movements he reached out and grabbed a handful of the infected's tattered uniform, hauling him up and over onto his back. Its head lolled as it thumped down to the metal floor, jaw hanging open and eyes staring lifelessly off into space.

Vhetin cocked his head, leaning over the corpse and studying every detail he could see. The man was tall and thin, and his skin was as pale as snow. His eyes were red and bloodshot, looking sunken and dead in their sockets. The infection had obviously taken a toll on his body, which showed clear signs of emaciation and had large lesions and patches of flaky and eroding skin. He almost looked like he was decomposing on his feet.

"What is it?" Jay asked, craning her neck to see over his shoulder.

"An infected, like we thought," Vhetin said with a grimace. "ID tag shows it's a… Captain Tenn-vonn. Administration coordinator for… Project Blackwing."

Jay let out a sigh. "Well I guess that settles it. Whiteclaw did go down with the Facility. It just didn't stay down."

"It would explain a lot," he said, continuing his perusal of the corpse. "Why this infected was so much faster. Why the mess hall was such a disaster area. They're weaponizing the serum, using it as a biological contaminant."

"As far as bioweapons go," Jay said, finally lowering her pistol, "one that turns people into monsters is pretty effective. You know they say those rakghouls on Taris were originally created by some kind of bioweapon?"

"Nothing ends well when Sith start meddling in science." Vhetin cocked his head and observed the dead man closer, leaning over the head and tilting the chin back. Dark crusts of dried mucus coated the man's face under his nose and at the corners of his mouth and eyes. Blood seeped from his ears, staining his neck in wide swathes of crimson. He'd obviously been infected for quite some time.

"Careful," his partner warned. "I've seen too many scary holovids where the dead guy comes back to life when everyone thinks he's dead and gone. You might want to keep your distance, just in case."

He chuckled dryly and leaned away. "Good point. Nothing more I can learn from this guy anyway."

"So what's the verdict?"

"He's been infected for a while. A day, maybe two. It certainly fits the timetable Kalyn gave us over comms."

"Is that why he was so fast? And so… skinny?"

He nodded and brushed his gloves off, standing to his full height and drawing his pike into his hands again. "It looks like he's one of the outriders. Doesn't flock with the other infected as they're wont to do. It's been a while since he's, ah… had a meal."

Jay made a quiet, disgusted noise behind her helmet faceplate. "Right. So he's basically feral?"

"Basically."

"And there are probably more like him on the station?"

"Probably."

"Wonderful." Jay's shoulders slumped. "This day just keeps getting better."

"We should move before someone — or something — comes to investigate the commotion we just made. Where's the next place the Imps would set up a safe zone?"

Jay didn't have time to answer. In the next moment, something heavy hit Vhetin in the side and drove him off his feet. His pike clattered away, out of his grip, as strong hands wrapped around his throat and began to squeeze.

Instinct took over, and he reached out and grabbed his attacker's head before it could sink its teeth into his throat. His helmet visor fogged as hot breath washed over his face, and he could see gnashing yellow teeth snapping shut just beyond it.

Like Jay had predicted, the infected officer hadn't been quite as dead as he looked.

Vhetin grunted and managed to draw his knees up under him, planting both his boots in the infected man's chest and shoving hard. The creature flew away, ripped away from its stranglehold on its prey, and smashed against the hallway wall hard enough to dent the durasteel.

Jay was instantly towering over him, opening up with her pistol in defense of her fallen partner. She fired again and again, her shots punching through the infected man and driving him to his knees. She fired until her pistol clicked empty, leaving the infected man sprawled on the floor with smoke wafting from a multitude of blaster burns.

Then, impossibly, the creature groaned and began clambering to his feet. He moaned, then staggered toward his attacker. Jay let out a curse and backpedaled, frantically reloading her pistol as she went. Vhetin's eyes widened at the sight and he quickly scrambled to his feet, ejecting both gauntlet blades as he did.

It wasn't possible! Jay had punched at least twelve rounds through his chest. No one could survive that, let alone stand up afterward!

But stand the creature did. It was obviously hurt, limping toward them with a pathetic, wheezing moan as its tongue lolled from its gap-toothed mouth. He took three steps forward, coming to a halt next to his partner, and fell into a battle-ready crouch with both gauntlet blades raised. Next to him, Jay holstered her pistol and drew her amethyst-colored lightsaber. If blasters wouldn't put this thing down, perhaps blades would.

"That's not possible," Jay said. "I put at least three bolts straight through his heart."

The creature took another shambling step toward them, reaching out a limp hand in a vain attempt to paw at them. They both took a step back, weapons raised. The creature sucked in a hollow breath and followed.

"Doesn't matter," Vhetin said. "Cut off the head, the body dies. It won't survive that."

"On three?"

"On three. Don't let it bite you."

Vhetin never got to test his theory. A second later, the hum of Jay's lightsaber and the groaning of the infected officer were both drowned out by a loud, reverberating _pow!_ The infected flinched sideways as a scarlet-hued blaster bolt sliced through the air and punched horizontally through its head.

 _Pow!_

Another shot, expertly aimed at the skull. The creature stumbled back against the wall and let out a weak little whimper, still stretching an arm out to the two bounty hunters. Its fingers shook violently, clenching and unclenching with a short, trembling rhythm.

 _Pow!_

The third shot finished the creature off — and destroyed most of its face. It slumped to the ground and fell sideways, twitched once, and didn't move again. Blood dribbled onto the already-dirty bulkheads in a slowly-spreading pool.

There was no mistaking it now; the thing was dead.

Vhetin didn't lower his weapons, nor did his partner. He stared at the creature for a few moments more, still not completely sure it was actually dead. But it didn't move any more and not even Whiteclaw subjects could survive getting half their face blown apart.

At his side, Jay straightened and lowered her lightsaber. Her voice was little more than a low growl as she nodded further down the hall and said, "Looks like the cavalry is here."

A cadre of blood-spattered stormtroopers were arrayed through the hall some distance away from them. They all looked battle-weary and exhausted, but their aim suggested otherwise. To put three bolts through a man's head at that range was an impressive feat, even for Vhetin. They clearly hadn't survived this long by being pushovers.

"Stay sharp," Vhetin murmured. "They may be just as dangerous as the infected."

"Way ahead of you," Jay said. She quickly deactivated her lightsaber and hooked it back to her belt. A moment later, her pistol was reloaded, recharged, and back in her hand. "In case you forgot, I don't have a very high opinion of the Corps to begin with."

At a barked order from their commanding officer, the Imperial soldiers fanned out, taking up safe positions further down the hall. They crouched behind corners or shipping crates, weapons raised and charged to fire. One of the troopers hefted a lethal-looking vibrosword in a steady two-handed grip, the edge of the blade crackling with orange energy.

The strangest thing about the stormtroopers, however, was that they weren't technically stormtroopers. Their gear looked specialized, reminiscent one of the more unique snowtrooper outfits, with a larger mask and hood setup rather than the typical contoured stormtrooper helmet. And unlike the pristine white of most other stormtrooper gear, their armor was a deep, garish yellow.

 _Hazmat troopers_ , Vhetin thought. _Specially trained to deal with toxins and biological weapons. Not surprising that the station had a compliment, considering the project_ _'s new focus._

Jay had obviously come to a similar conclusion. She glanced at her partner and raised an eyebrow, waiting for direction. He shook his head, the motion almost imperceptibly small, and made a short cutting motion with one hand; a signal ordering her to stand down and do what the troopers wanted. Like it or not, these were allies. And in such a hostile environment, they needed allies more than ever before.

Satisfied that the hall was secure, the troopers finally advanced on them, weapons raised and charged to fire. Vhetin didn't want to guess where they'd try to shoot him. He wasn't sure he'd be able to move in time to dodge any incoming fire.

"Drop your weapons!" one of the troopers shouted at them. "And put your hands on your heads!"

Vhetin finally raised his voice. "We're not—"

"Do it or we drop you like we did the Captain!"

Vhetin knew talking would be a futile endeavor. He quickly sheathed his gauntlet blades and raised his hands over his head. Normally he would have refused to surrender so easily, and the prospect of doing so would have been insulting. But he needed answers from these Imperials, and their corpses would not tell him as much as the now-deceased Captain's.

At his shoulder, Jay also returned her blaster to its holster on her belt and raised her hands. "Believe it or not," she said as the troopers rushed forward to take them into custody, "we're on your side. More or less."

She was swatted upside the head before she could say more. "Shut up and stay still. We're taking you in for questioning."

"Check them," a single white-clad stormtrooper barked. He wore a red shoulder pauldron denoting his rank as sergeant. "Bites, scratches, the usual."

The troopers handling Vhetin and Jay quickly set to work, patting them down in search of suit breaches or signs of attack. A cursory examination showed that both hunters' suits were undamaged and whole, and that they couldn't be infected as a result.

The hazmat troopers, however, didn't seem comforted. Vhetin grudgingly allowed one of the Imperials to clap a pair of electroshock binders over his wrists. Jay was restrained as well, and their assorted weapons and lightsabers were quickly confiscated. Once the troopers were sure their new prisoners wouldn't be trying any tricks, the small patrol set off in the direction they had appeared.

"Where are we going?" Jay asked.

The troopers fanned out across the hall, scanning the area with weapons raised and fingers hovering over the firing studs. Only one — the pauldron-wearing sergeant — hung back to ensure their new prisoners obeyed the rules.

"We're taking you to the command center," the man grumbled. "There's someone there who'll want to question you. Now get moving and shut up. The infected have good hearing, and we're in their hunting grounds."

"So that man was infected?" Vhetin murmured. "The virus got out?"

"You're remarkably well-informed," the sergeant grunted. He jabbed his rifle into Vhetin's armored back. "One more question the Overseer will have for you."

"The Overseer?" Vhetin echoed, ignoring the weapon poking against his armored back plate. "Who is that?"

"You'll figure it out when you see him."

"You know we aren't infected," Jay pointed out. "We're no threat to you."

"This is the second time we've found infiltrators on the station," the sergeant growled. "Last time someone managed to sneak aboard, the virus was released and a lot of people died. So you'll excuse us if we're a little cautious of outsiders."

Vhetin found it hard to argue with the man's logic.

His comm hissed as Jay opened up a private helmet-to-helmet comm channel. The troops outside wouldn't be able to listen in so long as they kept their voices low.

"So what's the plan?"

"There is no plan. For now, we're cooperative prisoners of the Empire."

"I've done that once before, you know. It's not as fun as it sounds."

"I'm not too pleased with it either," Vhetin said. "But we need answers. These Imperials will have them. So for now, let's keep our weapons holstered and our lightsabers deactivated and see where they're planning to take us."

An unhappy sigh from Jay. "Then I guess we're off to see the Overseer. Let's hope he has some solid answers as to what the hell is going on in this hellhole."


	7. Overseer

_Author's Note: Apparently there was a weird bug and this chapter got double-pasted when I posted it the first go-round. Not sure why, but my computer does stuff like that sometimes. It's fixed now, so enjoy._

 _Thanks to my_ vod _Kel for pointing it out. I owe you one. :)_

* * *

They didn't see any more infected on their way out of the crew quarters. There was carnage around every corner and blood covering the floor in thick swathes of crimson. It dripped down the walls and from the ceiling, pooling in corners and seeping out of coolant vents in the walls.

The air was thick with the sickly thick scent of gore, so pungent that Jay's helmet filters weren't able to keep the smell out. Her face was pulled into an ever-present grimace as the warm stink filled the confines of her armor.

She kept her eyes fixed on her boots with the concentration of a Jedi to avoid viewing such nightmarish scenes of depravity. Her stomach was still rolling and churning and the last thing she wanted to do was vomit in her helmet.

She was far from some weak-wristed damsel who fainted at the first sight of blood. She'd seen battlefields crowded with bodies and gore during her time in the navy and even more in her time as a bounty hunter. She had killed and seen others killed first-hand. If anything, she was probably more comfortable in the presence of death than most.

But there was something about this station… the careless brutality of the carnage, the aimless, endless slaughter, that struck a deep-seated chord in her. It made her stomach roil and her forehead bead with cold sweat at the sights that surrounded her. This… this was something very different from the battles she was used to.

Vhetin trudged along next to her, his cuffed hands clenched into fists. Unlike her, he was staring all across the hall and taking in every bloody scene, no doubt recording it to his helmet systems for later study. She admired his iron stomach, though she did notice his clenched fists opening and closing at random intervals; a sure sign he was just as tense as she was.

She triggered their private helmet-to-helmet comm channel so their captors couldn't listen in. She found herself thanking the fact that the air was contaminated; she probably wouldn't be wearing her helmet otherwise.

"So…" she slowly began. "You think they're telling the truth? Are these Imperials really friendlies?"

"I think _friendly_ is an overstatement," he replied. "But for now they're our best lead to Kalyn."

"And the infected? I'm not sure I buy this stuff about the crew quarters being their hunting grounds. I mean… I mean, humans don't _hunt_."

"Apart from bounty hunters?"

"You know what I mean."

"I know what you mean. And you're wrong."

"What? How can you tell?"

"My helmet sensors have picked up at least eight infected prowling around the area. They're keeping their distance and watching. They're out there and they're definitely interested in us."

Jay's heart plummeted into her gut. "What? Are you sure? Why haven't they attacked yet?"

"The same reason kath hounds don't move in for the kill unless their prey is weak and wounded. Too much of a risk. We're traveling in a convoy of heavily armed and armored soldiers. None of us are easy to take down when we're in a group, so they're going to be cautious."

He glanced at her, then looked back to the view in front of him. "Just stay with the group and they'll keep their distance."

Jay let out a long breath. "I can't believe this serum makes people act like this."

"The Whiteclaw serum — or Blackwing or whatever they're calling it now — doesn't change anything about behavior. It just harnesses what's already there."

She glanced at him to continue and he said, "Humans are one of a select few number of apex predators in the galaxy. Our ability to think tactically and rationally is a skill many other creatures don't share. The serums used here harness those primal thoughts and flood them with aggression. It makes the infected highly volatile pack hunters. Like a nexu in a human's body."

Jay shivered despite herself. "That's not a cheery image. Why would the Empire want to make these things so smart?"

"They're not smart. They're driven by overcharged animal instinct to hunt. To _eat_. That instinct is highly developed, but don't mistake it for intelligence."

"What's the difference?"

"You place an intelligent creature in front of an obstacle, it'll find a way around it. It'll use rationality and intellect to solve the puzzle. A creature driven solely by instinct and bloodlust won't care. It'll crash right through the barrier in front of it and keep on going."

"And that's worse?"

"In a way. It's more dangerous, but also more predictable. It's a trade-off."

A hand was suddenly on her shoulder, squeezing hard and pulling her back to draw her to a halt. Vhetin was similarly stopped.

A heavy blast door sat in front of them, currently sealed shut and powered down. Jay saw with no small amount of discomfort that there were bloody handprints smeared across the dark gray surface and a pool of almost fresh blood on the floor in front of it.

"Well, well," Vhetin murmured over the private comm. "Looks like the Imps have managed to cut the infected off here."

"A safe zone?"

"Maybe. Stay alert either way."

The hazmat troopers fanned out, turning their backs to the door and training their weapons on the hallway from which they had come. Their white-clad sergeant approached the barrier before them and slammed his armored fist against the surface.

"Alpha patrol," the man said to no one in particular. "This is Sergeant Rigel, checking in."

A panel slid open on the wall near the blast door. With a whir of mechanics, a large ball-shaped structure poked out, propelled by a long support strut. The ball quivered and slid open like an eye, revealing delicate sensory equipment inside. It turned and pivoted on its support, taking in the squad of hazmat troops outside.

A wash of garbled static. Then a voice. " _Were you attacked?_ _"_

The sergeant shook his head at the query. "Negative."

" _No bites?_ _"_

 _"_ None that we've recorded, but we'll be happy to submit to inspection once we're inside. We picked up two more infiltrators on patrol. The team checked them out, but it might be safer to look over them a little closer."

The sensor eye fell on Vhetin and Jay now. Its lid-like sheaths clicked open and closed a few times, like a large eyeball blinking. Then it swiveled back to the sergeant and rumbled, " _Well it_ _'s about kriffing time those two showed up. Hold on. I'm opening the blast door."_

Vhetin glanced at his partner in confusion, about to ask her if she knew what was going on. But then the sensor eye clicked shut and retreated back into the panel in the wall. A second later, the blast door hissed and began to sheath open, spilling clouds of decontaminant gas out into the hall. Beyond was a cramped room lit with slowly pulsating scarlet light.

 _An airlock_ , Jay thought. _Smart, considering the air_ _'s been contaminated. They must actually have a safe zone set up. I wonder how many people survived the outbreak?_

Then the hazmat teams were ushering them into the airlock, weapons still trained on the hallway. Jay was about to head into the airlock herself when a sudden harsh clicking of cycling rifles drew her attention back to the hall.

"Contact!"

"Copy. Orders, sergeant?"

A figure shambled into view further down the hall, hunched over and dragging one leg. Jay felt her heart climb into her throat at the sight.

It was an infected, like the officer they'd killed earlier. But unlike the officer, this one was in far worse shape. It limped along down the hall with actions far more disjointed than those of the feral captain. It grunted with each limping step, its other leg twisted at an unnatural angle.

But unlike the captain, this creature didn't attack when it saw the hazmat troopers waiting in the open airlock. It just stared at them and cocked its head curiously, bloodshot eyes stretched wide. Its jaw hung open and a fat purple tongue lolled free, spilling drool onto a once-pristine gray uniform.

One of the hazmat troopers growled deep in his throat and shifted his grip on his heavy blaster rifle. "Permission to engage?"

"Negative," the sergeant said, watching the infected man closely. "Save your ammo. Just get this airlock closed."

He'd barely finished speaking when two more figures raced into view, sprinting forward with near-identical screams of rage. Every gun in the airlock was raised and prepped to fire — Vhetin ejected his twin gauntlet blades even with his hands bound, much to the chagrin of their captors.

The sergeant triggered the airlock comm with a sharp jab of his fist. "Get this airlock closed! We have hostiles incoming!"

"Permission to engage, sir?"

"Negative! Do not fire until I give the order!"

Jay unconsciously took a step back, deeper into the airlock. The heavy blast doors began to sluggishly sheath closed, releasing a grating rumble of mechanics. But the infected men were still advancing; too fast, faster even than the officer she and Cin had encountered earlier. Their eyes were wild and stained red, their faces and hands splattered with blood. Anything remotely resembling human behavior had long since been stripped away.

"Sir! We need to engage!"

"Negative!" the sergeant shouted again. "Hold your fire!"

The infected drew close enough that Jay could see the individual sores and wounds dotting their gaunt and off-color faces. She glanced at Vhetin for some kind of suggestion, but the Mandalorian was just staring at the incoming attackers, gauntlet blades raised in front of him.

"Sir—"

The infected leaped into the air, bloody fingers outstretched. Jay shrank back as fast as she could, her arms instinctively coming up to cover her eyes.

The airlock doors suddenly sparked and slammed shut, cutting short the trooper's plea for orders. Jay flinched as the heavy durasteel barriers smashed into place, quickly followed by a pair of dull _thumps_ as the infected men hit the airlock doors hard. Seconds later, they began beating their fists against the door and screaming. Even muffled by three inches of solid durasteel, the sound was still bone-chilling.

She let out a long breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Kriff, that was close."

The stormtrooper sergeant sighed as well, shouldering his rifle and looking very much like he wanted to rub at his no doubt sweaty forehead. It was a strangely casual, humanizing expression, even in full armor. "They like waiting at the airlock doors for us to enter and exit. It's a decent ambush point."

"It didn't attack," Vhetin murmured.

The sergeant turned to him as the Mandalorian flicked his wrists and sheathed his gauntlet blades. "What's that?"

"The first infected man," Vhetin said, turning his back to the muffled screams. "The officer. He didn't attack when the others did. He just… watched."

"Is that odd?" Jay asked, cocking her head.

"It's certainly not the behavior of an alpha predator." He gave a terse shake of his head. "I don't understand it."

A second later he was cut short as a blast of cold air buffeted them from all directions. Jay flinched away from a hissing air vent near her shoulder, while her partner took a step back to prevent his wildly flapping kama from being ripped from his belt.

The torrent of air kept up for a few everlasting moments, until Jay heard a sharp chime and the lights warmed to a dull green. The wind tapered off and several monitors set up around the airlock flashed the words _DECONTAMINATION COMPLETE. PREPARE TO DISEMBARK._

"This is it boys," the sergeant called. "Weapons down. We're home."

A chorus of relieved sighs from the troopers as their weapons were lowered and cycled down. One trooper pulled off his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of one hand. Another clapped his companion on the shoulder with a short chuckle.

"How many have you lost so far?" Vhetin asked the sergeant, using his bound hands to straighten out his ruffled armor. He was watching the stormtroopers intently.

"Half the station's population was infected within the first hour," the sergeant replied. "Only a select few were spared by easy access to preliminary inoculations or areas untouched by routine ventilation. We've managed to gather some survivors, but… not many."

"How many is _not many_?"

"About a hundred," came a new voice from behind them. The two hunters turned to see a familiar short-haired woman ducking inside the other side of the airlock. As the doors retreated, leaving a diamond-shaped opening in the airlock wall, the woman straightened and rested her hands on her hips.

"It's about kriffing time," she said with a short shake of her head. Her face was dinged and dirty, smeared with a mixture of dirt, coolant fluid, and blood. Yet her cocky smirk was still unmistakable. "What, are you two paying by the hour suddenly?"

"Kalyn!" Jay took a step toward her with the intention of giving her a relieved hug. Then she remembered her bound hands and settled for a, "Thank the Force you're all right!"

Kalyn Farnmir smiled wearily. "Right back at you, Moqena. I'm glad you got my message. It's damn good to see you two."

She nodded to the hazmat troopers. "You can take their binders off and give them back their weapons. They're with us."

The troopers — the sergeant in particular — didn't look too pleased by the command. Rigel took a step forward and said, "Are you sure? They could be pirates or terrorists or—"

"They could be a lot of things, Gattor" Kalyn interjected. "But what they _are_ is a pair of top-notch mercs who could probably take down twice as many infected as you with their hands tied behind their backs."

Jay cleared her throat. "You sure you're not overselling our skills just a little?"

"Maybe. But the fact is that we need every gun we can get if we're going to make it out of this. And between the both of you, you're packing quite a few. It's why the Imps let me go, and it's why they're going to let you go now."

She glared at the sergeant. "Isn't that right, Sergeant Rigel?"

The stormtrooper stared at her, no doubt glaring through the eye-shaped visors of his helmet. Then he sighed and threw a single hand up in the air. "Fine. But if the Overseer says otherwise, I'm following his orders over yours."

"I wouldn't expect any less from a loyal Imperial lapdog like yourself," Kalyn said, rolling her eyes. "Just get those binders off and give them their weapons back. They'll need them."

"Can you give us a sitrep?" Vhetin asked as the hazmat troopers removed his binders. He flexed his hands and rubbed at his wrists when the restraints were finally removed.

Kalyn sighed. "It's not looking good. I was caught sneaking around the storage bays, and the virus got released in the tussle. Stupid Imps have been weaponizing it, making it more potent and easier to transfer. The entire oxygen system is laced with it by now, but we've managed to purify the air systems to some sectors of the station. Too little, too late."

"What about survivors?" Jay asked.

"Our best guess is that there are other survivors, but they're spread out all over the station and cut off from this area. We're trying our best to fight through the infected to get to them, but it's slow going. They're tough sons of bitches."

"How so?"

She let out an irritated huff. "They just refuse to die. I've seen troopers fire volleys of blaster bolts into them and they still keep coming. The only sure-fire way to put 'em down for good is to pop them in the head. Otherwise, there's no telling how much it'll take to kill them."

Vhetin's scowl grew deeper. "That doesn't sound like the Whiteclaw subjects I remember. They were crazy, sure, but they died just as easily as anyone else."

"Official orders were to shut down Project Whiteclaw about six months ago," one of the hazmat troopers said. He hefted his heavy-duty rifle over his shoulder, like a mechanic with a heavy hydrospanner. "The scientists here are part of the Imperial Bioweapons Project One-Seven-One-Alpha. Codename Blackwing."

"Blackwing?" Jay asked. That was the second time she'd heard that word since setting foot on the station.

Kalyn waved the man on, ushering him out of the airlock. "Some top-secret viral weapons project. They're using the gunk your black-armored friend made to drive people rabid. They're stronger, faster, and deadlier than before."

"For what reason?"

"You can probably guess: the Imps introduce it into a population, the people go mad and start eating each other. Society breaks down, potential rebellions are ripped apart from the inside, and the Empire can safely deny everything. Anyone investigating will probably be infected too, so no one's left behind to point fingers."

"Sons of bitches," Vhetin hissed, shaking his head. "I should have known they would have some kind of contingency in place if Whiteclaw failed."

Jay touched her partner's arm. "It's not your fault, Cin. You couldn't have known."

He pointedly ignored her. Instead, he turned back to Kalyn, hands clenched tightly into fists. "What about enemy strength? How many are we facing here?"

"Unknown. Could be a couple hundred, could be over a thousand. The station's running dark because of the lockdown, so that means no easy access to other quadrants, no security holofeeds—"

"And no comms to the outside," Jay finished. "It's just lucky you managed to get your call out before the lockdown."

"Not luck, Moqena," Kalyn said, gesturing for them to follow her out of the airlock. "I demanded they not hit the big red button until I got the call out."

"And they let you order them around?" Vhetin asked, eying the stormtroopers that flanked either side of them. The airlock boomed shut behind the group, and several more soldiers rushed forward to guard it.

"When I told them who _you_ are, they did."

Vhetin didn't think she meant his reputation as a bounty hunter. "You told them about my history with this project?"

Kalyn nodded. "Had to. It was the only way they were going to allow outside reinforcements. It was a substantial risk, but… well, the Overseer will probably explain better than I can. He's organizing a push through to the research wing. A bunch of scientists are pinned down there. If anyone can figure out how to stop this, it's them."

They passed through another heavy set of blast doors, also guarded by stormtroopers. Once they did, they emerged into a crowded staging area packed with survivors. There were white-clad scientists and engineers dressed in red coveralls huddled into corners while medical technicians saw to their wounds or simply talked in hushed whispers. Navy officers in bloodstained gray uniforms bustled about, supervising stormtrooper patrols or conferring with other station personnel. All looked tired, battle-worn, and terrified.

The nearest looked up at the sound of the blast doors opening and their eyes stretched wide at the sight of the newcomers who had obviously not been on the station when everything had descended into chaos. Almost immediately, hushed whispers began to run up and down the room.

"Who are they?"

"They don't look like Imperials."

"Did they send for reinforcements? Are we going to be safe?"

"Since when do Mandalorians care about Imperial science research?"

Vhetin ignored them all, far more focused on the immediate concerns facing them. Jay tried to follow his lead, though — given her rough history as an Imperial fugitive — being the center of attention in the midst of an Imperial research station, surrounded by Imperial scientists, soldiers, and navy personnel, was obviously more difficult.

"What about long-term plans?" Jay asked. She swerved to avoid a knot of yellow-armored hazmat troopers, talking in muttered tones over their helmet vocoders. They didn't look up as the newcomers passed. "Just how are we going to get out of this mess?"

Kalyn's face pulled into a sheepish grimace. "We… don't know."

Vhetin scoffed, the sound drawing the attention of even more locals. "Seriously? You've been trapped here almost a whole day and you don't have an escape plan?"

"We haven't been able to punch through to the hangar. The infected swarmed that area early."

Jay unsealed her suit and pulled her helmet free as they continued deeper into the safe zone. It was a relief to breathe clean air again — even if the station's oxygen supply was dry, musty, and triple-filtered to weed out any contaminants. After clipping the helmet to her belt and adjusting her messy hair, she frowned and said, "Strange. We just came from the hangar. It was almost deserted."

"You can thank the Imperials for that," Kalyn sighed. "They launched a hefty counteroffensive to retake the reactor quadrant. The mission was a failure and a lot of our survivors died, but they managed to trap a good deal of infected inside, behind blast doors meant to keep back a nuclear explosion."

"Impressive," Jay noted. "Those infected won't be going anywhere soon."

"Right. It almost looked like things were getting under control until _someone_ tripped the station's perimeter sensors and blew up something big in the hangar. The sound drew the horde to that section. They'll be occupied there for some time before they disperse again."

Vhetin cleared his throat with a sheepish shuffle to his feet. "That… that might have been my fault. I kind of crashed a TIE fighter into the hangar bay."

"I should have known," Kalyn said with a roll of her eyes. "Every time I think you're going to be of some use, Vhetin, you wind up making things five times more difficult."

He sighed. "You're not telling me anything I don't know."

Jay interjected before any argument could fully form. They'd worked with Kalyn before, and she'd gotten good and keeping the two from killing each other. "So what's the plan now? If the hangar isn't an option, how are we going to get out of here?"

"For now? We aren't. And since you drew the infected to the hangar, you're trapped here with the rest of us." Kalyn shot them a dry smirk. "Probably been a while since you two have had a proper sleep over, huh?"

"Give me ten minutes in the hangar with my pike and my flamethrower," Cin growled. "I'll have it cleared in no time."

"Noble of you, but it won't work. Remember what I said about killing them? Fire and laser swords won't do anything but slow them down. And you'd be surprised how quickly these bastards can overwhelm a single fighter."

"What do you mean?"

"You ever heard of Felucian vampire fish? The ones that can eat a rancor monster down to bones within five minutes? That's basically what these things do."

Jay let out a tiny, "Oh."

"But only if they're hungry enough," Vhetin pointed out. "We passed by their food caches on the way here. Bodies packed to the ceiling, blood on every imaginable surface…"

"We've taken to calling that area the Boneyard. Fitting, if a tad macabre. From what we can gather, it's their ah… _nesting grounds_ , for lack of a better term. They congregate in that area, and they like having a ready food source in case our patrols are too feisty for them."

They passed by another group of stormtroopers, their once-spotless white armor smeared with grime, dirt, and thick swathes of blood. One of the soldiers was limping, while another was nursing a broken nose. There were no bites or scratches visible, though one trooper's gauntlet was scuffed in a strange pattern that looked suspiciously like human teeth marks.

Jay felt her stomach twist dangerously at the mere memory of the carnage they had just left. "Can we change the subject, please?"

"Gladly," Vhetin said. He stared at Kalyn, a dangerous tilt to his helmeted head. "So who is this Overseer you're taking us to see? The old project didn't have any real Imperial oversight."

"This is a… new development," Kalyn said, looking uncomfortable for the first time since appearing in the airlock. "Not exactly the best circumstances, but beggars can't be choosers. And it's not like it's not helpful having him around—"

"You're talking in circles, Kalyn. Give me a straight answer."

"I will," she said, bringing them to a halt outside another heavy blast door. A pair of yellow-clad hazmat troopers were standing guard outside, and they nodded to Kalyn as she approached — they obviously didn't see her as an intruder any longer. She was just another survivor, trying to find a way off this hellhole of a station.

She reached out and thumbed the door's opening stud. "Just… promise you won't be mad?"

"Mad about what?"

The door sheathed open. The next moment, Jay let out a shout and drew her pistol. Vhetin's lightsaber pike leaped into his hands, the blue blade springing to life with a heavy synthesized hiss of plasma. Both instantly moved to attack.

They didn't make it far. Before either could even begin to press forward, Jay's pistol was yanked hard from her hand, flying out of her reach and across the room. Vhetin took two steps forward and collapsed to the ground, grabbing at his neck and gasping for breath. His pike clattered from his grip and powered down with a sharp rasp. Jay's pistol raced through the open air and clapped into a large, leather-gloved palm. She took a staggering step back, arm still outstretched, too shocked to let it drop.

With a hissing rasp of breath, Darth Vader turned to face the bounty hunters. His cape swirled sluggishly around him, as if made from the very shadows that clung to the corners of the room. The lights on his chest plate flickered gently as the highlights from room's illuminators danced across his midnight-black armor. He regarded the two bounty hunters intently, his masked gaze falling ultimately on Jay.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then he spoke.

"Captain Kolta," the Dark Lord boomed. "It is a pleasure to meet once again."

* * *

If she didn't know better, Jay would have sworn she had traveled back in time. Within the span of an instant she was right back in prison on Corulag, trapped in a claustrophobic room with the most dangerous man in the galaxy. Her heart leaped into her throat, thumping so powerfully that it hurt just to breathe. Her head swam with equal parts confusion, rage, and terror.

And he remembered her _._ That was the worst part. Even after she'd spent a year hiding from the Empire, ducking out of the way of stormtrooper patrols, avoiding popular Imperial cantinas, and living like some low-down deathstick dealer, he _still remembered her_.

She took a dizzy step back, her balance temporarily failing her. Only a single thought raced through her head as the deathly _wheeze-sigh_ of the Dark Lord's breathing pressed in around her, smothering her with sound.

 _Not again,_ she thought. _I won_ _'t let him hurt me. Not again. Not again_.

"Jay," Kalyn said slowly, raising her hands in a placating gesture, "I know how bad this looks, but—"

Jay didn't say anything. She didn't have to. All she did — all she _could_ do — was cock her fist back and punch Kalyn in the jaw as hard as her shocked body could manage. The older woman was obviously taken by surprise, falling back into a stack of storage crates and holding her face with a surprised shout. Several stormtroopers standing guard over Vader raised their rifles. The two pale-faced Inquisitors ignited their scarlet lightsabers. She didn't care.

"No," she said, her voice coming out as little more than a strangled whisper. "Not again."

Then she turned and sprinted from the room.

She ran for a long time; how long, she didn't know. She didn't know where she went or who she passed along the way. She saw Imperials on all sides, pressing in on her, watching her with wide-eyed gazes. But no matter how far or fast she went, she couldn't escape that horrible rasping breath or the memory of the man to whom it belonged.

" _I will not ask again, Captain_ ," Vader had rumbled, towering over her like a terrible obsidian monolith. " _Who paid you to sabotage the counterinsurgency mission over Malachor?_ _"_

She could feel it even now, as if the memory was happening to her all over again. The way the Dark Lord's invisible power had held her down, grinding her face against the unyielding durasteel tabletop. How he had thrown her against the walls, against the ceiling, throttling her with invisible hands as that monotone voice continued to demand answers she did not have.

" _You are a small piece in a much larger game, Captain Kolta,_ " Vader had growled as she writhed and choked in the air, clutching at her throat. " _And now, you are an example to all who would rebel against the will of the Emperor. Your death is necessary. For the Empire._ _"_

She finally found a nearly empty hallway and collapsed against the bulkhead wall, her head lowered and her breath coming in short gasps. Salty tears stung her eyes, welling up despite her best efforts to force them back down.

Nightmares of that terrible day had plagued her for months afterward. Again and again she would wake, drenched in cold sweat and screaming, still seeing that reflective black armor in her mind's eye. Still hearing that terrible breathing and the rumble of his invisible power.

 _Not again_ _…_ she kept thinking. _Not again_ _…_

It wasn't long before she heard heavy bootsteps on the floor behind her. They paused, shuffled a bit. Then a gentle hand fell on her shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

Cin's voice was soft and nervous, as if he didn't really know what to say. With good reason, too; she had never lost her composure so radically on a hunt before. Even in the middle of a warzone, she was _better_ than this.

She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks now. "I… I can't do this, Cin. I can't do this if _he_ _'s_ here too. The things he did to me…"

His hand didn't leave her shoulder. "I know. I'm not exactly excited about it either. But we have to play with the hand we're dealt."

"No we don't!" she suddenly spun to face her partner. "We _don_ _'t_ have to do this. You don't want to be here any more than I do. What… what if we just left? Made a run for the hangar, took my TIE fighter, and didn't looked back? Went back to Mandalore and… and just let it go? All of this?"

"You know why we can't do that." His voice was still gentle, but a firm note entered it now. "There are too many people — innocent people — in danger here. We can't just leave them to die."

She looked away, hugging her arms around herself as tears streamed down her cheeks. Her back thumped against the bulkhead behind her. She could feel herself slipping again, could feel the tears beginning to overwhelm her. "I just…I can't let him hurt me again. I _won_ _'t. I-I won't…"_

"Hey." His gloved hand came up and suddenly was pressed against her cheek. She found herself leaning into the motion, finding comfort in the gentle pressure. She couldn't see through her partner's angular faceplate, but she knew he was watching her intently with those cold blue eyes.

"I won't let him hurt you again," he said. His voice left no room for argument. "I would never let _anyone_ hurt you like that again. I would die first."

She sniffed, eyes widening a little. "R-really? You'd do that for me?"

"I would." He almost sounded offended that it was even in doubt. "You're my partner, Jay. And Mandalorians look after their own. _I_ look after my own."

"B-but—"

"But nothing. He's not going to lay a finger on you," Vhetin insisted. He took a step closer. "Physically or through the Force. I'll make sure of that."

She let out a watery chuckle. "You couldn't even take three steps in his direction before he disarmed you. How could you possibly protect me?"

"Because I won't be doing it alone," he said. "I know you'll fight every bit as hard as I will to protect yourself. And you're not exactly a pushover."

"I'm also not Darth _kriffing_ Vader."

"We've taken on bigger threats." They both knew he was lying, but it was still a comfort to hear. "We can take him too, if need be."

The tears welled up again and she smiled and closed her hand over his, still cupping her cheek. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"I find myself asking the same question. I don't say things like this for just everyone, you know."

She sniffed, tears still streaming from her watery eyes. Then she nodded. "All right. Together?"

He nodded back, a single terse bob of his helmeted head. "Together."

She couldn't find any more words to say. She merely smiled at him, feeling her heart finally slow to a more comfortable pace. She could almost sense that he was smiling back.

They stayed that way until someone cleared their throat further down the hall. Then they quickly parted to find Kalyn staring at them with an apologetic grimace. Vhetin's hand disappeared from Jay's cheek and she quickly moved away from him, blushing and looking down at her feet.

Kalyn was glancing between them, head cocked to one side. "Am I, uh… Am I interrupting something?"

"No." Vhetin turned to the huntress while Jay quickly rubbed the tears from her cheeks and straightened her flight suit. He cleared his throat and took another awkward step away from his partner. "Jay's just had some… less-than-savory encounters with Lord Vader in the past. The surprise wasn't exactly appreciated. By either of us."

"I know," Kalyn sighed as she approached. "I wasn't any happier with it than you two. But he was on some kind of inspection when the place went into lockdown. He fought his way to the safe zone and took over as soon as he found us. Unsurprisingly, no one really wanted to stand up to him."

She shrugged. "There's no denying how useful he is. And he's pretty determined to get this all under control. For now, we're all on the same side."

She hesitated, then reached behind her back and produced Jay's pistol. The one Vader had snatched from her grasp. The stubble-haired huntress glanced at it, then held it out in apology.

"He told me to give this back to you. Said you would need it more than he would."

"I'm not on any side with _him_ ," Jay said heatedly. But she did retrieve the pistol from the older woman and holster it back on her belt. "Trusting him is the bad idea to end all bad ideas."

"I'm not saying we should become best friends," Kalyn said. "But for now, we're all borked together. Once things are un-borked, we can go back to trying to kill each other."

Vhetin nodded. "The enemy of my enemy is never my friend. But there's no reason we can't put aside our differences to deal with a common threat. Old Mando saying."

"Kriff," Jay sighed. She took a shaky breath and shook her head, rubbing at her watery eyes one last time. "I guess I have no real choice since we're all stuck here together. It's not like I have anywhere to go. So what's the plan?"

Kalyn jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "We're getting things set up in the briefing room. They'll be able to explain better than me. Are… are you two okay to come back?"

Vhetin glanced at his partner. She gave him a small nod and said, "I think so."

"All right. Then let's go."

Before Vhetin could follow after the stubble-haired woman, he felt Jay grab his arm to hold him back. He turned to find her staring at her feet, a blush coloring her cheeks. She shuffled her feet a little, as if debating whether to speak what was on her mind.

"Hey," she finally said. "I just wanted to… to say thanks for the things you said. They helped. They really did. I don't know what I'd do without you here."

"Without me, you wouldn't even be here," he pointed out.

"I-I know," she said. "But I'm just trying to say… I'm just trying to say that I'm with you till the end. Whatever that end may be."

He nodded, then reached out and clasped her forearm in a traditional Mandalorian handshake. "That means a lot, _ner vod_. I know this mission just got a lot more personal for you."

She said nothing, but squeezed his arm tight. The gesture told him all he needed to know.

"You two coming?" Kalyn called from further down the hall. "We don't want to keep Lord Vader waiting."

* * *

When they returned to the room, Jay refused to look Vader or his pale-faced Inquisitors in the eye. She sulked at the back of the room, arms folded and eyes fixed on her boots. If her agitation had any effect on Lord Vader, the Dark Lord didn't show it. He did nothing but watch the hunters' return with a dead stare reminiscent of the cold, carved gaze of old stone statues. Vhetin cleared his throat as he, Jay, and Kalyn returned to the room.

"We've talked it over," he said, "and decided to help with whatever plan you have to get this under control, Lord Vader."

Vader said nothing. One of his Inquisitors, however, was far more vocal.

"And why should we even accept your help?" the lanky human said. He folded his arms, spreading the black velvet cape that fell from his shoulders. "You and your compatriots are directly responsible for the release of this virus. You should count yourself lucky Lord Vader doesn't execute you this instant."

"Hey, it was your idiot stormtroopers that crushed that sample," Kalyn shot back. "If they'd actually acted like they were working in a hazmat area—"

"And now," the Inquisitor said, raising his voice over Kalyn's indignant growl, "you have brought two more infiltrators among us, further jeopardizing the security of this outbreak and—"

Vader finally spoke. "Inquisitor Abbadon. That is enough."

The pale man quickly fell silent, bowing his head before his lord. Vader watched him dispassionately for a moment before turning to the large hologram readout before him. His bootsteps rumbled like thunder in the quiet room.

"An outbreak of this scale was inevitable," he continued. "The virulence of the contagion all but assured it. Unless this outbreak can be contained, the virus' escape from the station is equally inevitable."

"How?" Sergeant Rigel spoke up now, his arms folded over the stock of his rifle. "We're cut off from the outside world and the station is on lockdown. How could the virus escape?"

"The Star Destroyer _Ember Hawk_ remains in local space," Vader boomed, linking his hands over his belt, "and will remain until I command them otherwise."

He took a single hissing breath. "Captain Dodenu is a capable naval commander, but inept in times of crisis. When I do not report back and he realizes the station is under emergency lockdown, he will send an investigation team or risk the displeasure of the Emperor."

Everyone present in the room glanced uneasily between their ranks at the subject of the shadowy Emperor. Even Vhetin felt a chill flit through his body at the mention of the name and the reminder of just how powerful and connected his unlikely allies truly were. He'd never met the Emperor and, as brave and competent as he considered himself, he never wanted to.

Vader ignored them all and continued, "They will be exposed to the airborne virus and carry it back to the Destroyer. The Destroyer will then return to its regular patrol path — no doubt to re-establish contact with the Empire and inform my master of the disappearance — and carry the virus to other systems within sublight range."

He swept his masked gaze over the room. "The planets placed at risk by this eventuality number in the hundreds. I need not explain the consequences for such a failure."

Jay visibly winced, her hand drifting unconsciously to rub at her throat, but everyone else nodded grimly. They all knew the stakes, especially now that Vader was present. He didn't have a reputation of being a forgiving sort.

Vhetin took a step closer to the holographic readout table and rested his palms against its housing. It was currently displaying a readout of the station, complete with blaring red sections signifying dangerous or unsecured areas. "So what's the plan to secure the station?"

Kalyn took the place next to him, glaring one last time at Inquisitor Abbadon, who was signaled to speak by a wave of Vader's gloved hand. She rested her hands on her hips as the pale man gestured to an area of the station highlighted in green.

"Before your intrusion," Abbadon said, "we were formulating a plan to break through the infected to the science division. Several attempts have already been made, but none are successful."

"Now that Lord Vader has arrived," Sergeant Rigel said, "we think we have a far better chance of punching through to the science division. Some of the project's senior researchers are holed up there, with a number of stormtroopers protecting them. Once we can reach them, we'll have access to real medical care, as well as any vaccinations they've managed to cook up."

Vhetin looked up at the Inquisitor. "There's a cure?"

The man merely narrowed his eyes at the Mandalorian.

"Apparently there is." Kalyn took over. "But it's only effective if administered within an hour or so of being infected. It's not much of an advantage, but it's still something."

"And these scientists," Vhetin said slowly, "will have some way to contain this?"

"That's the hope. Apparently one of the scientists we're looking for is the head of Project Blackwing. A Twi'lek. Doctor Kassie-something."

"Kasiporo," Vhetin said. His voice darkened and one hand clenched into a tight fist. "Temminath Kasiporo. I remember him; he was one of Whiteclaw's senior researchers."

"Yeah, well, if anyone will know how to contain this, it'll be him."

Vhetin folded his hands over his chest, scowling behind his helmet faceplate. "What happened to the last project lead? Doctor Uthalian?"

"He…" Kalyn pointedly rubbed at her throat and glanced in Vader's direction. "He had a few… disagreements with Lord Vader. I'm sure you can imagine the rest."

Jay spoke for the first time, a pained grimace crossing her face. "I can."

Vader drew attention back to him. "To reach the science division, we must travel through the main research wing. The infection began there, and it is the area the infected prowl most aggressively."

"How do we even know the scientists are still alive?"

"I was with them not three hours ago," Rigel supplied. "I was traveling with one of the station doctors when the virus broke out."

"I was there too," Kalyn added.

"Then why are you here?" Vhetin inquired. "Why not offer them some support?"

"The Doc wanted me escort him to the science division. It's one of the most secure areas of the entire station. The other uninfected scientists rallied there and holed up tight. Still there, last I know."

"And he sent you away?"

"To find Lord Vader," Rigel said with a terse nod. "Said that if anyone could get this mess under control, it was him. Not sure he figured on you hunters dropping in. I didn't want to leave him on his own — the Doc's good people, after all — but he wasn't wrong. They need reinforcements and if we want to survive the next few days, we want the scientists to be alive."

"And what's your opinion of the area? What are our chances?"

"It's going to be a tough slog," the dark-skinned stormtrooper sergeant admitted. He looked the two bounty hunters up and down, eyes lingering on their many assembled weapons. "But something tells me you two are more than prepared for what we're about to face down."

Vader too a single wheezing breath. "I sense we all will be surprised by what we are to face."

"My lord?"

The Dark Lord hooked his thumbs over his belt and turned away from the holoprojector. His helmeted gaze was wandering distractedly across the room, as if an annoying insect flitted about his helmet. "There is… a presence aboard this station. Something powerful, yet elusive. It infests these halls, surrounding us even now."

"A… a presence?" Vhetin glanced at Jay. "What do you mean?"

"Could it be more infiltrators?"

"I do not know," Vader said, as if reluctant to admit it. "I will meditate more on the matter. This presence will not escape my notice for long."

By the door, Jay shuddered and looked down at her boots.

"Well," Kalyn said, "whatever may be lurking around, it's not going to just sit and wait to be killed. I say we head for the scientists. We may learn more on the way."

"Indeed." Vader swept past without another word, cloak billowing out around him as he went. As he passed, the edge of his cape brushed against Jay's boots. The woman hopped away, as if afraid the touch would burn her. The Dark Lord's Inquisitor guards were right behind him, their pale faces all but glowing in the dim light.

Then he was gone, and the room was filled with the sensation of a passing storm, like they were bathed in the first rays of light after a dying hurricane. Vhetin felt himself let out a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. He glanced at Kalyn, who only shrugged and rolled her eyes.

Jay was still standing next to the door, arms wrapped tight around her own shoulders and still staring at the floor. Vhetin appeared at her side, sensing her need for companionship. He hesitated, then put an arm on her shoulder. He could feel her shaking and his HUD showed her heart rate elevated to higher-than-normal levels.

"You okay?"

"No, I'm not" she said with surprising honest. She looked terrified, even after Vader's hollow, sucking breaths had echoed away into silence. But despite her obvious fear, there was a firm, determined set to her jaw. "But I can't keep running from my past and neither can you."

"You can stay here if you want," he said. "I wouldn't hold it against you."

She glanced at him, then reached down and squeezed his hand. "I'm not going anywhere."


	8. Imperial Bioweapons Project 171A

_Author's Note:_ _Since this story went on temporary hiatus, I've gone back and done some housekeeping here and there. There's nothing major in the re-writes (to my eyes at least) but it may warrant going back and re-starting this story just to get a better feel for where everything/everyone is at._

 _Cheers,_ vode.

* * *

With Darth Vader towering over the scene, it didn't take long to assemble the strike team. The chosen stormtroopers and hazmat specialists assembled with grim and silent determination, filing into parade lines as the Dark Lord stalked down the hall. They snapped to attention when Supreme Commander passed, his footsteps thundering against the bulkheads beneath his boots as he made his way toward the airlock.

His Inquisitors — who never seemed to stray too far from their lord's side — drifted after him with an eerie, serene grace. Their pale skin almost appeared to glow in the station's dim lighting and their livid yellow gazes roamed over the lines of assembled soldiers with barely-controlled malice.

Vhetin and Jay followed at a more sedate pace. She was alternating between glaring at the back of Vader's helmet and staring anywhere but at the Imperial warlord. Her hand kept drifting to the lightsaber clipped to her belt, fingers brushing across the leather-wrapped surface of the weapon. She knew she would stand no chance if forced to cross blades with the man of her nightmares, but the weight at her hip was still a very slight comfort.

The stormtrooper sergeant from the briefing — Rigel, if she remembered correctly — was standing next to the exit door with a heavy rotary blaster cannon slung over his shoulder. He saluted as Vader approached.

"Sir," he reported, "the team stands ready to leave the safe zone. We have enough weapons and ammunition to withstand any potential attack."

"I should hope so, Sergeant," Vader intoned, coming to a halt in front of the airlock. "The infected subjects are not to be trifled with."

"With all due respect, my lord," the soldier said, "we don't intend to trifle with them."

If the shadowy tower standing before him approved, he gave no indication. His angular helmet shifted slightly as he turned his attention to the Inquisitors flanking him on either side. Sergeant Rigel was left to coordinate the stormtroopers that would be joining their expeditionary team — around twenty in all.

"Inquisitor Abbadon, Inquisitor Urieth," Vader thundered. "You are hereby granted joint control of this strike team. Should I depart for any reason, you are to take command in my stead."

Abbadon placed his open palm against the chest of his dark leather armor and bowed his hairless snow-white head. "Of course, my lord. We will serve you faithfully."

"Ensure you do."

Abbadon's master said nothing more. Instead, he gestured to the control panel next to the heavy blast doors. The panel instantly lit with green light and the barriers blocking the entryway began to sheath open. The Dark Lord swept inside with a rasping breath as soon as the entryway parted wide enough to accommodate his towering frame. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited, a silently malevolent statue of cloaked obsidian.

Jay glanced at her partner as the stormtroopers began to file inside next, falling into tight ranks behind their obsidian-armored leader. She bit her lip in hesitation, then leaned closer and murmured, "You think they're telling the truth? About these doctors we're going to find?"

Vhetin's tone was calm. "They have no reason to lie to us. We're all trapped here together."

"I know, but…" she glanced into the airlock, eyes lingering on the polished planes of that rounded black helmet. "Isn't search and rescue a little mundane for the Imperial Supreme Commander? Why is he coming with?"

"You're complaining? I hate the man as much as you do, but I'm glad to have him leading the charge here."

"Of course I'm complaining! I don't trust him."

"Neither do I. But—"

She interrupted. "No, I mean I think there's something he's not telling us. Like what he said about the presence he felt? All around us, infesting the station? What was _that_ about?"

The Mandalorian shrugged, still seemingly unconcerned. "I learned a long time ago not to question Force-sensitives about their _special feelings_. Sometimes it's easier to just take things on faith."

She huffed and folded her arms, watching the yellow-armored hazmat troopers file into the tight space of the airlock now. "I still think he knows more about this than he's letting on."

"I'm not surprised. Lord Vader has been the overseer of this project from the beginning. And he doesn't usually deign to share his plans with his underlings."

"Would you stop that?"

He looked over to find his partner scowling at him. He cocked his head, surprised at her sudden animosity. "Stop what?"

Her hands were clenched into fists. "Calling him that. _Lord_ Vader. You sound like…" She jerked her thumb toward the stormtroopers now crowding around the doors. Her lip curled in an angry sneer. "You sound like one of _them_."

"I don't intend to stop." His eyes narrowed behind his helmet, more out of confusion than any sense of combativeness. "It's a matter of respect, Jay. I use the title he's been granted."

She scoffed in disbelief. "And since when do you show Imperials _respect_?"

"I usually try not to. But he's a special case. He's earned it"

"He's _evil!_ _"_

He sighed and folded his arms, flexing his fingers and shifting his weight from foot to foot. He felt the insatiable urge to _move;_ all this standing about was getting on his nerves. "Just because someone is your enemy doesn't mean you can't respect them. In fact, I think it's even more important then."

"That's ridiculous."

"That's _honor_ ," he corrected. "Personal feelings aside, I have great respect for what Lord Vader is capable of. He holds tremendous power throughout the Empire and has the martial skills to support that reputation. His talent with the lightsaber and his power in the Force is almost unmatchable. Whatever else he may be, he's a great warrior and one who has accomplished a great deal with the Empire. Entire worlds tremble before him and everyone in the galaxy fears his power."

He shrugged. "I can respect that kind, even if I don't see him as an ally."

She was still scowling at him. "And when did you suddenly have this change of heart?"

"When I first met him on the battlefield, almost five years ago. A contract I was hunting turned out to be a cover for an off-the-books meeting, an interview of sorts for the ICF team. At the time, I thought the Empire was trying to assassinate me. I thought I could take him. I was wrong."

"You… you fought him?" Her scowl faltered the slightest bit. "One on one?"

"It could hardly be called a fight. I only managed a single slash before his riposte cut my lightsaber in half. Then he broke my neck with a wave of his fingers."

" _What?_ "

He nodded. "I spent the next two weeks in a bacta tank and another four after that with a cast around my neck. I was lucky he didn't instantly kill me. He easily could have."

He gestured to the Dark Lord, now towering over a throng of white and yellow-armored soldiers. "The only reason I'm alive today is because — for whatever reason — he decided not to kill me. For that, I owe him my life. That's not something a Mandalorian takes lightly."

He shrugged. "And as long as I'm being brutally honest, you owe him too."

She recoiled in disgust. "You're out of your mind. He _tortured me!_ For _hours_!"

"Which was terrible," he acknowledged. "But he also _spared_ you. Among my people, being defeated by a superior foe when you yourself are far from helpless demands some not-so-small consideration."

"But—"

"Have you seen those statues set up around MandalMotors?" he interrupted. "In the memorial garden?"

She frowned. If she was thinking of the right place, the Mandalorian Memorial Garden was hardly a _garden_ at all. It was in fact little more than a fenced duracrete back alley just outside the MandalMotors complex, packed with rough-hewn stone statues in various states of disrepair. How it pertained to the matter at hand, she didn't know.

Her partner continued, "I'm sure you recognized some of the strange figures we've got crammed in there. A lot of enemies of the Mandalorians."

"Well sure. Hard to miss Count Dooku's grizzled mug in there. But I always thought that was because you Mandos fought for the Separatists during the Wars. Didn't that make Dooku your leader or something?"

Vhetin shook his head. "That statue was crafted and erected long before the Clone Wars. It was raised in honor of Dooku's victory at Galidraan."

"But… but that was a defeat for the Mandalorians. Your people were massacred by the Jedi!"

"They were. And we hate the Jedi for it to this day. But their commander during the battle — Dooku — earned our respect by defeating us. Not many in the galaxy could go toe-to-toe with our best warriors and emerge with such a decisive victory. It was impressive and we treat it as such."

"But—"

"And he's not the only one in the garden: we also have statues of Mace Windu, General Grievous, the Shan family, and countless more stretching all the way to the days of the Old Republic. We even have a statue of Darth Malgus buried away somewhere in there."

He and Jay moved forward to take their place in the airlock as the stormtroopers finally finished piling in. There was just enough space to fit two heavily-armed bounty hunters and a grim and silent Kalyn Farnmir. She had yet to comment on the current discussion, but Jay knew she was listening intently.

"Every shrine," the hunter continued as they took their place among their temporary teammates, "was constructed to honor a historical figure famous for defeating us. They're there to remind us that we're not invincible. That we can be beaten. And anyone who can beat us is worthy of our respect, because we wouldn't be here today if they hadn't shown _us_ some measure of respect as well."

Jay's face was twisted by a dark sneer. "Then I guess this is the first time I outright disagree with your culture, Cin. I'm not going to bow to any enemy. Especially not _him_."

"Then don't. But a truly honorable warrior shows respect even to those who've wronged her."

"Deference is not a declaration of weakness, but a reflection of strength." Kalyn suddenly glanced up, as if seeing the two other hunters for the first time. She raised an eyebrow, as if daring them to argue. "Mandalore the Ultimate said that."

"That's… that's right." Vhetin frowned behind his helmet. "Since when do you quote Mandalorian historical figures?"

"I did some reading into your guys' history after I realized you weren't going to leave me alone," she replied. "I figured I should know more about what makes you Mandos tick. Didn't really help. You people have apparently been weird for millenia."

Jay snorted and rolled her eyes. "It took you this long to figure that out?"

"Look," he said, "that I respect Vader doesn't matter. I'm still on _your_ side. Has that ever been in doubt?"

Her response was instantaneous. "Never."

"Is that good enough?"

"I… I guess." She sighed, her shoulders falling limp for a moment. She took a deep, calming breath. "I'm sorry, Cin. I shouldn't question your loyalties. You've proved yourself time and again in the past. I have no right to be suspicious of you now."

"Are you kidding? Challenging me on this kind of thing is exactly why I keep you around. It keeps me honest. Keeps me on my toes."

She finally let out a dry chuckle. A little of the tension drained from her shoulders. "You left out the part about my smoldering good looks and my on-point sense of fashion."

"That too." Her partner's voice carried a smile. "But I didn't want you to think I was flattering you."

"Voices down," one of the stormtroopers ordered from in front of them. "We're getting underway."

Farnmir sighed and bounced on her heels with a mutter of, "About kriffing time…"

The heavy flash-seal doors let out a screech and began to rumble closed. Jay kept her stare fixed on the hall outside and the Imperial survivors huddled there. Her gaze didn't shift in the slightest until the chamber had slammed shut and sealed, cutting them off once and for all from their temporary sanctuary. Only then did she turn to face the rest of the troopers, the airlock doors, and the horrors that no doubt lay just beyond.

After the blast of disinfectant gas had come and gone, Vhetin hazarded a subtle look over at his partner. Tension was written into every fiber of her body, every flash of her eyes and flex of her gloved fingers. There was clearly something bothering her; something that went deeper than her fear of Darth Vader.

He gently nudged her arm. "You okay?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, a distant look crossed her features, lips pursing into a thin, pale line as she stared at nothing in particular. When she did speak, her voice was quiet and strained. "I don't know, I just…"

He nudged her again. "If you say you have a bad feeling about all of this, I may have to hit you."

She didn't laugh. "But I _do_ have a feeling. Not bad, but just… weird. Like I'm drowning, but purposefully swimming down instead of up to the surface. Like I'm drifting further and further from where I should be. Where it's safe."

She glanced at him, then quickly away again. She unconsciously mirrored Kalyn and bounced a little on her heels. A deep clank sounded from ahead of them as the airlock cycled, preparing to open.

"Ignore me," she sighed. "It's probably just nerves."

 _Or maybe something to do with the mysterious_ presence _Vader mentioned_ _…_

He didn't say that. Instead, he folded his arms and said, "Your instincts are telling you something's off about all this. They haven't steered us wrong yet."

"It's not for lack of opportunity. And I can't help but feel like our luck is running out."

Against his will, Vhetin found his mind drifting back to his tense conversation with Denton before disembarking. The way Jay's boyfriend had threatened him with a _Tal_ _'galar Nari_ if anything happened to her. He wouldn't let the man's accusations come true. So long as he was here, no one would lay a finger on his partner; Imperials and Blackwing subjects alike would die if they tried.

He told her as much, masking the strength of his conviction with a note of humor. "I'm right here with you. You aren't going to go off and get yourself killed on my watch. I won't let you."

His words were of no comfort to the woman at his side. She just scowled and unclipped her flight helmet from her belt. Within seconds it was pulled over her head and sealed, hiding her distracted gaze from sight. Her voice was dark and dry, rasping through the helmet's vocoder with a snarl very unlike her normal tone.

"Sometimes," she said, "it isn't up to you."

* * *

Vader was, of course, the first one out into the unsecured station beyond. As soon as the door unsealed and rumbled open, he strode through the exit with a rasp of his respirator. He didn't bother to draw his lightsaber. In hindsight, perhaps he should have.

The hall beyond was crowded with infected; at least twenty were shambling up and down the walkways or crawling across the floors. They looked up at the sound of the airlock grating open and the stronger among them screeched and instantly sprinted for their would-be prey.

They didn't make it far. The fastest only made it within a few paces of the black-armored lord. Before they reached striking distance, Vader raised a gloved hand and the hall cracked with invisible thunder. A blast of energy erupted from his palm, tossing infected men and women through the air and smashing them with bone-crunching force against the walls, floors, and even the ceiling. It was as if all the power of a thermal detonator had been focused into a single pillar of unstoppable destructive energy, set loose with a wave of gloved fingers.

Vader didn't slow or break stride. Another gesture and three infected floated into the air, clawing at their throats. A second later, their necks were snapped to unnatural angles and they crumpled to the ground.

The Inquisitors were right behind their leader, igniting their crimson lightsabers and leaping into battle. Seconds later, bodies began falling all around them. The pale-skinned, black-clad duo was thorough in their work, though they lacked the poise and grace of veteran swordsmen like Vhetin or Vader. Rather than presenting their enemies with an unstoppable whirling cage of energy, fists, and stud-toed boots like the Mandalorian swordsman or an unstoppable advancing force of lightsabers and telekinetic manipulation like their dark master, they set into the infected with all the elegance of a battering ram. They lashed out with short, precise bursts of lightning or telekinetic power, then finished off their opponents with swift stabs or slashes that instantly dropped their prey. They didn't even bother to finish the infected off; they stepped past them and marched on with sabers held at the ready.

The hazmat troopers were next, fanning out and opening fire at any survivors left in the wake of their Force-using commanders. They finished off any downed opponents, barking curt orders to each other in short bursts of comm chatter. Their professionalism when faced with cutting down their former comrades was at once admirable and a little uncomfortable; they showed no mercy when mowing down Imperials, men and women alike, and several of the troopers doused the infected with short bursts of flame from portable flamethrowers. Their helmets betrayed no hesitation or regret and their sharp, practiced motions and their battlefield commands were as emotionless as their faceplates.

The hunters brought up the middle, flanked both in front and behind by Imperials and purposely kept far from the front of the front lines to be easily herded along the way to their destination. Jay couldn't blame the Imps for their mistrust, much as she didn't like being penned in by these cold white-plated soldiers. If she was in their boots — Force forbid — she wouldn't trust a rogue collection of mercenary infiltrators either.

Still, even from this far to the rear of the patrol group there were fights to be had. A few infected broke through the lines of Imperials and rushed the hunters, forcing them to retaliate in kind. Vhetin ignited his lightsaber pike with a flourish, the blade crackling to life with a hiss of plasma and a flash of purest blue. Kalyn's silver-plated pistol sprang into her grasp and she instantly opened fire with expertly-aimed blaster bolts that sliced through the air and felled infected left and right. Jay was right behind her, sighting in on the nearest infected: a gaunt man with sickly gray skin and a blood-flecked chin. He snarled and screeched at her from his position hunched over a gnawed-on corpse. A trio of blaster shots to his chest, shoulders, and head dropped him to the ground and ensured he wouldn't rise again.

Vader continued his unstoppable march forward. His skeletal enemies proved themselves just as unstoppable. For every disease-addled Imperial he felled, three more leaped for him. Most were stopped in place — most times quite literally, hovering in mid-air and clutching at their swollen throats — but a few managed to penetrate his defense. For a moment, it almost seemed like the waves of infected would overwhelm the polished tower of armor and leather.

Then the Dark Lord raised a fist and thrust it forward with a sharp _wheeze-sigh_ from his respirator. A rippling blast of energy surged out from the motion and toppled everything and everyone in his path. The invisible wave ripped lights from the walls and tore panels from the floor, deforming the walls with wrangled screeches of metal. Sparks flew as the ceiling and bulkheads all around them buckled. Infected flew everywhere, crashing into any surface that presented itself.

Only now did Vader draw his weapon. A pulsating bar of scarlet light sprang from his fist with a synthetic screech, swung up, and carved an infected stormtrooper's chest plate in two. A swift counterstrike took another sickly trooper's head off at the shoulders. A third slash felled two men at once. From her position at the rear of the group, it was easy to watch and be awed by Vader's brutality. There was a beauty to his motions, a deadly, mesmerizing grace in the way his lightsaber danced through the air in front of him. He was a powerful enough figure when simply standing and speaking, but in battle his motions became all but hypnotic.

A screaming stormtrooper in bloodstained armor quickly drew her attention back to the battle unfolding all around her. Her next flurry of shots shattered the wailing trooper's chest plate and sent him crashing to the ground. She put a boot on his chest and fired point-blank into his helmet. He twitched and fell still.

Kalyn was suddenly at her side, snapping off shot after shot at any target that dared present itself. Her silver-plated pistol clicked empty and she swapped out a fresh tibanna cartridge with a quick flick of her wrist.

"You still with us, Rookie?" the woman called over the din.

"Matching you shot for shot!" Jay responded. She stood to her full height and fired again, knocking down an infected officer that was sneaking up on Vhetin just ahead of her. "And stop calling me Rookie!"

One of the hazmat troops fell under the onslaught, driven to the ground by four infected that ganged up on him. They tore at him with teeth and talons. His armor protected him from some of the blows, but his mask was ripped from his head and blood began to flow soon after.

Vader paid no mind to their losses. In fact, he didn't even check if his team was keeping up with his relentless pace. His march continued, leaving a sea of shattered bodies in his wake. Against her better judgment, she found herself grudgingly admitting that as hectic as the battle was, the terrible man in black was doing an admirable job of cutting a path through the infected. Even now, the shambling foes were turning and fleeing into the shadows at his approach. After a few more minutes of battle, almost all the infected were either dead, dying, or disappeared.

"We're clear," Sergeant Rigel reported. "All hostiles are in full retreat."

"Good," Vader said. "Dispose of the wounded and we will continue."

Rigel paused, as did the hunters. Jay glanced at her partner, who was in turn looking to Kalyn for confirmation. After all, killing enemies that were actively trying to kill you was one thing. That was easy and understandable, and the heat of the moment did wonders to drown out the morality of one's actions. But after the blaster shots stopped, things like this grew infinitely more complicated.

Rigel bravely voiced these concerns. "Sir," he said, "do we have to kill them?"

Vader didn't move. He didn't turn. But his voice, that baritone purr of unparalleled power and malice, still chilled everyone present to the very core.

"Choose your next words carefully, Sergeant."

Rigel froze at those thunderous words. Jay could swear she saw his throat bob with a nervous gulp beneath the skintight flight suit. But he nonetheless continued, "Sir, these are Imperials. Loyal Imperials. They didn't want to attack us. They've done nothing wrong."

"Yet they did attack, Sergeant," the Dark Lord said, rounding on the stormtrooper with a slow, measured menace. His cape billowed out around him as he did. "And if we allow them to live, there is every chance they will recover from their injuries and impede our passage back to the rest of the station."

He took two thudding footsteps forward. "They are no longer men, Sergeant Rigel. They are beasts. Animals. There is no hope for redemption from what they have become. This is their fate, and your misplaced sense of mercy will not save them."

Two more footsteps. Then two more. Vader was now towering over Rigel, looking down upon him like a vengeful god from a mountaintop. The raspy, echoing hiss of his breath filled the hall. Every eye was fixed on the two and Jay was sure she couldn't look away even if she tried.

"Do I make myself clear?"

If the stormtrooper was any more terrified, his armored knee plates would no doubt be clattering together. It was amazing he hadn't fainted away on the spot — and even more amazing the towering, armored titan hadn't reached out with his terrible power and throttled him already.

But when the tension broke, it was with a high-pitched scream of pain. It took a moment for Jay to realize the scream was coming from her own mouth.

Then the pain caught up to her and she looked down to see a writhing mess of flesh and blood grasping at her leg, yellow-black teeth disappearing into the meat of her thigh. She felt her suit tear, felt those teeth dig deep and ignite a brilliant stab of pain. Then something else slammed into her from the side, catching her full in the ribs and driving her to the ground. Flailing hands and scrabbling fingers went instantly for her eyes, trying to gouge them out and scratch at her face.

She felt all this with a strange detachment, more surprised than alarmed. The gravity of the situation had yet to catch up to her and her mind still raced to catch up to her current situation. The best her stunned mind could summon up was an unnaturally calm, _Oh this can_ _'t be good, can it?_

Then those reaching, grasping, clawing fingers hooked beneath the lip of her helmet and yanked. Her head came up off the ground and she heard a terrifying stutter of tearing fabric as her sealed neckpiece was ripped away. He caught half a lungful of hot and stagnant air before her face was blasted with stinking fetid breath and sticky strands of drool.

"Jay!" The voice seemed distant and muffled behind screams; her own and those of her attackers. She saw a flash of mottled gray-green skin and livid, rolling eyes. Then the thing pinning her to the ground darted forward and that same sensation of blunted teeth returned — this time sinking into the flesh between her neck and shoulder.

The pain grounded her, shocking her from her state of bemused, stunned calm. She arched her back and screamed for real, beating and kicking at the bodies that pinned her down to the ground. The teeth remained fixed, catching hold like a swampland crocodont dragging its prey to the shelter of the water. Her entire body was covered by spasming, thrashing limbs and clawing fingers. Blood soaked her arm down to the elbow, making her suit stick to her body with a hot, clinging insistence. The teeth were still embedded in her neck and leg and she kicked hard in a vain attempt to dislodge the latter. And in her agony, her head was wrenched to the side for a split second and through streaming, watery vision, she caught a glimpse of Darth Vader.

He was standing there, hands hooked over his blinking utility belt, cape tugged by the station's sluggish ventilators. The lights flickered over that polished obsidian armor and in the stuttering light he seemed to be made more of the darkness itself than actual flesh and blood, a spectral revenant with only the reflected light truly delineating where man ended and shadow began.

He stood there. And he did nothing but stare.

Then the world flashed blue and the teeth in her neck slackened. Another flash and the same happened with those in her leg. The body atop her went limp and the head that had been buried in the crook of her neck suddenly flinched and rolled away, severed at the neck with only a single line of sizzling, cauterized flesh showing where it had once been joined to the body.

A boot thumped down next to her and her vision was suddenly filled by a very different kind of black armor. Unlike Vader's, these plates were scuffed and marred by the marks of a thousand different battles, decorated with tiny little symbols and dark leather tassels. Only a single section glinted like Vader's carapace and that was the slanted T-bar visor of a Mandalorian battle helmet.

Then Vhetin's hands were on her shoulders, dragging her up to a sitting position and propping her up against the wall. He was speaking to her, saying something with fast and sharp words that were wholly lost on her, ringing in her ears like the muffled shouting after a grenade detonation. He was holding her face, touching her shoulder, gingerly peeling her shredded flight suit away from the ragged bite in her leg.

Over her partner's shoulder, Vader was still staring.

The shocked ringing in her ears ever-so-slowly faded away and she could hear her partner saying, "Talk to me, _Ja_ _'ika_. C'mon, you need to… need to say something."

She could hear the fear and panic in his voice, could feel it in the way his hands moved over her. His motions were quick and unfocused, as if he wasn't sure what to do. She smiled a little at that.

"I didn't see," he said, the words falling from his helmet vocoder with desperate rapidity. "I didn't check the corners, didn't see there were still hostiles. Kriff, this is all my fault, I shouldn't have—"

"You…" her voice was weak and shaking, "You… called me _Ja_ _'ika_. Don't hear that often… from you."

He didn't sound so amused. "You're losing a lot of blood. The _di_ _'kut_ must have hit an artery or… or…"

With her uninjured arm, she gestured vaguely to her head. "Lost m'helmet too… can't be good, right?"

Again, he didn't so much as chuckle. She didn't blame him, either. They both knew what that meant: she'd been exposed. She was sucking in the Blackwing virus with every breath, releasing it with every exhale. And the bites weren't a good sign either. She was already dead. It was only a matter of time.

But Vhetin didn't seem so concerned about that. With her help, he gently peeled her out of the top of her flight suit, exposing her bloodied torso to the lukewarm station air. He gingerly observed the bite on her collar, his helmet's viewfinder clicking down to scan the wound. She couldn't see it, but she could easily see the one on her leg; a ragged, still-bleeding half- oval of torn and mangled flesh torn away by angry, stabbing teeth. It throbbed with a dull ache that sent a sharp spike of pain lancing up through her whole body with the slightest movement.

There was a sudden sting against her neck and she cried out, convinced another infected had leaped forward to finish the job its two friends hadn't managed to pull through. But then she felt the chilling wash of bacta flooding through her veins and her partner pulled away with an emptied hypospray in his grip.

"That should help the pain," he said.

"Thanks," she sighed and used her uninjured arm to wipe the sweaty hair from her face, clearing her vision. "I needed that."

She sensed a half-second of hesitation from him. "It's… not for that pain."

"What?"

"That bite on your neck is bleeding badly. If it keeps up, you'll bleed out in minutes. So…"

He produced his lightsaber and held it up for her to see, almost apologetically. As soon as she saw it, she moved away and tried to return to her feet. Her leg wobbled, lit up with a lightning strike of suffering, and gave out beneath her and she thumped hard back to the ground.

"I need to cauterize the wound," Vhetin said. "And a lightsaber cauterizes clean. It's the only way to save you."

"No," she said, her face twisting with desperation. "No, no…"

"Jay, there's no other way."

"Please don't—"

"If I don't," he spoke over her pleas, "you'll bleed to death."

She squirmed and tried to inch her way away from the metallic cylinder in his hand. "No, no, no—"

A heavy metal boot thudded to the ground behind them. He turned on his haunches and looked up, high above, to find Darth Vader looming over them both. His partner instantly shrank away, pulling herself into a ball with a pained whimper. Vhetin, however, leaped to his feet and placed himself squarely between her and the armored shadow come to kill her.

"No," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You stay away from her."

The Dark Lord didn't stand down. "My order still stands. The wounded are lost."

"She isn't _lost_ ," Vhetin spat, his voice full of venom. "Just give me a dose of the antidote and she'll…"

They both saw how the other Imperials were mirroring their Supreme Commander, staring at them without offering a single thought of help. Even Kalyn was staring at her feet, her no doubt ashamed expression hidden behind her hazmat gear.

Vhetin reached the obvious conclusion faster than Jay did. "You didn't bring any, did you?"

Vader was a wordless monolith of hissing obsidian.

Vhetin moved before anyone could hope to stop him. He ignited his saber and swung at the Imperial, the blade carving through the air on a trail of brilliant aqua light. But it froze a half-inch from Vader's helmet, catching in the air like an axe stuck deep in a stubborn tree trunk. The Mandalorian grunted and tried to shove against the blade's emitter, but it was stuck tight in place.

"Your sentiment makes you weak," Vader intoned. His expression was unreadable behind the reflective contours of his mask, but he still didn't look concerned in the last that the most lethal weapon in the galaxy was literally being held to his throat.

"Your heartlessness is just as bad!" Vhetin snapped. "We're all just expendable to you, aren't we? Not even worth inoculating before sending us against these monsters! We're just cannon fodder to be used up and tossed aside when we're no longer of use to you!"

"You say that," Vader said, "as if you are surprised."

Vhetin's next attack came almost too fast to follow. His arm snapped up and fired off a wrist-mounted anti-personnel rocket. It also was plucked from in mid-air only inches from that skull-like battle mask and after a few moments the rocket's propulsion tail flickered and died away. The explosive clinked harmlessly to the ground.

The Mandalorian's arm was similarly caught in Vader's invisible grasp, freezing in place and trembling as he fought to rip it free from the power holding him captive.

"I won't let you hurt her. You'll have to kill me first."

"If I wished to harm your companion," Vader said, "your bravado would not be enough to stop me."

He clenched a fist and the air seemed to thicken, rumbling with a distant roll of gentle thunder. Vhetin stiffened and made to reach for his throat, but halfway there his arm froze in place, trembling with the effort of struggling against the hidden bonds holding him.

With a graceful sweep of leather-clad fingers, Vader hoisted the bounty hunter into the air and off his feet. Vhetin's legs kicked but could find no purchase to help him ease the throttling chokehold around his neck.

"You forget your place, hunter," Vader said, watching the flailing Mandalorian with his bottomless black stare. He took a step closer, now forced to look up at his captive to look into his face plate. "You are present on this station because I have allowed it. You accompany this team because I have seen fit to overlook your many crimes. Your life, Mandalorian, is quite literally in my hands. I have granted you the gift of clemency. Do not make me rescind that gift."

His claw-like grip slackened and Vhetin plummeted to the floor. He collapsed in a heap and a clatter of armor plating, sucking in a desperate breath and coughing uncontrollably. Vader looked down at him, exuding an air of disdain with his fists planted on his armored hips. With a short nudge with the toe of one boot, he pushed Vhetin's fallen lightsaber back within the hunter's grasp.

"Look to your compatriot, bounty hunter," he boomed. "If you are so desperate to save her, that is your decision."

His gaze fell on the injured and whimpering bounty huntress one last time. Even in her wounded and half-delirious state, she had enough remaining strength to shiver and cower under that bottomless gaze.

"Besides," the Dark Lord boomed, "she may still be of some use to us."

Vhetin clambered to his feet and returned to his partner's side. Vader stalked away with a bark of, "You have five minutes to prepare to continue. Inquisitors, remain wary for more surprise attacks."

Jay was far too pale for any good med-tech's taste, and she looked like she was starting to nod off, either from shock or blood loss. Neither was a good sign. The entire right side of her body was now soaked with blood and her head lolled against her shoulder.

He roused her with a gentle touch to her side, along her ribs. "Jay? How're you holding up?"

She shot him a weak smile. "Look at you… being all chivalrous and standing up for me. If I didn't know better…"

She trailed off and coughed. The motion sent a fresh stream of blood dripping down her bared shoulder. He patted her side again and said, "Hey, stay with me _Ja_ _'ika_."

She licked her chapped lips but didn't open her eyes. "I'm with you, Cin."

"Good. I still need to cauterize the wound," he said. "With the lightsaber."

She grimaced. "You sure?"

"I'm sure. It's going to hurt, but it's your only hope to make it to the scientists. Once we're there, they'll be able to patch you up."

"What… what about the virus?"

"It has an incubation period," he said, ripping a strip of cloth from his kama and gingerly sponging the blood from her body. "An hour or so. If we can get to them, they can patch you up. There's a cure, remember?"

"And if they don't?"

He said nothing.

She coughed again and put a hand over his, hindering his ministrations. "Cin… if we don't make it in time… if I…" Her eyelids fluttered. "I don't want to end up like those monsters. I want…"

"I know what you want," he said with a stern grimace. "But that's not going to happen."

"If it does…"

"It won't."

"Just…" she gulped, but not without pain. "Just promise me we'll talk about it more. If… if it comes. We both know I can get Kalyn to do it if you won't."

He paused, clenching his teeth so hard they ground together painfully. He didn't meet her watery and suffering gaze. "I… guess. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"Good enough." She fell against the wall and turned her head, offering up her shredded shoulder. "Then let's get this over with."

"You sure?"

She didn't answer. He had no choice but to take that for a _yes_.

He thumbed the activator and the lightsaber sprang to life with a suddenly sinister _snap-hiss_. The humming blade bathed them both in shimmering sapphire light, illuminating the torn and ravaged meat of Jay's neck and shoulder. His heart was thudding uncomfortably hard in his chest.

"You ready?"

She sighed, eyes still closed, and said, "Just don't cut off my arm."

He tried to respond with some witty remark, but none came. In its absence, he simply put a steadying hand on the uninjured part of her shoulder and lowered the saber. She tensed up as the heat first touched her skin. She reached out and clasped his arm, squeezing it tight with a powerful grip.

The blade touched her flesh and the hall was instantly full of sizzling, like meat strips on a frier. Her jaw tightened and tears instantly welled up and streamed down her cheeks as her body stiffened and her fists clenched tight. But to her credit she didn't make a sound. He kept the very edge of the blade pressed against her skin, careful not to let the blade slip and accidentally carve through her arm. Smoke began to rise from the wound and she began to shiver, eyes squeezed shut tight. Her grip on his arm tightened to an almost painful level, but he didn't pull away.

"Almost there," he murmured. "Almost there. You're doing great, _Ja_ _'ika_. Just a few more seconds."

She fidgeted a little, her back grinding against the wall and the back of her skull grinding insistently against the hard metal bulkhead. Vhetin kept the blade in place for a few more seconds, then pulled it away and deactivated the blade. Left in its wake was a charred and warped patch of skin, burned brown-black, that smoldered with tiny yellow sparks and spewed tendrils of smoke. He touched it with gentle fingers and the burned skin held. Jay only winced a little. The bloodflow had effectively been halted.

"Well?" she panted, feeling tears still wetting her cheeks. "How does it look?"

"It's not pretty," he admitted. "But hopefully it'll hold until we can get you to real medical attention."

"You sure know how to make a girl feel special, Cin." She went limp against the wall and let out an exhausted sigh. He helped her by pulling up her jacket and zipping it up once more.

"How does your leg feel?" he asked.

"Not good. I think I can walk on it, but it'll be painful."

He tore another length of cloth from his belt-skirt and stretched it taught. "Hopefully this will help. It's no bacta shot, but it should hold until we get you to a medical checkpoint."

She offered her leg and he wrapped the cloth tight around her thigh. Almost instantly the makeshift bandage was soaked in blood, but it thankfully held; Mandalorian kamas were made of material specifically designed to be used for this very purpose if needed.

"You're lucky," he said as he worked. "A little higher and you'd be missing a chunk from your femoral artery. You'd be in real trouble then."

Once he'd finished, she gently but pointedly pushed his hand away. "A little higher and _you_ _'d_ be in real trouble, too. I may have let you take my jacket off, but that's as far as you're getting with me without at least buying me a drink, mister."

"Duly noted." He was glad a little of her sarcasm was returning. "Can you stand?"

She grimaced, reached up, and laced her fingers into the contoured wall. "Let me see. Give me an arm, would you?"

He let her half-hang off his arm as she fought to a standing position. She hobbled for a moment, wobbling violently, until Vhetin put his hands on her shoulders and stabilized her. She grasped at his armor until her balance returned, then held her arms out and took a shaky step.

"I think…" She took another step. "I think…"

She stumbled and fell to her knees with a whimper. Her partner was instantly at her side, a hand under her arm, helping her back to her feet.

"I can carry you if you need it," he offered.

She gasped, holding the bandage on her thigh with a desperate but tentative grip, careful not to aggravate it further. "I don't think that'll be necessary yet. I appreciate it, though. Just… can I lean on you?"

"Of course." He nodded and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He put his around her waist and helped her toward the main group. Kalyn was waiting for them, her hands on her hips.

She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Vader just gave the order. It's time."

They knew the Imperials wouldn't wait for the hunters caring for their wounded. But Jay screwed up her face and set off, helped by her dutiful partner. Together, they reached an admirable pace and managed to catch up to the patrol with little difficulty.

It wasn't long before she started coughing.

* * *

Only Kalyn lingered, staring around at the aftermath of the carnage. Looking down around her, she looked at the way the bodies were sprawled out around the hall; infected and freshly-killed Imperials alike. They were all lying together, some on top of others. Several bodies were on fire from Vhetin's flamethrower or the hazmat trooper's own inferno-inducing armaments. There were severed limbs lying here and there, courtesy of Vader and his Inquisitors, and the entire area was torn up and mangled by the destructive explosions of Force energy. She was sure it stunk to high heaven too and was very glad she'd been forced to don a protective respirator mask that filtered out olfactory contaminants.

She knew she should catch up with the others. That splitting up in a place like this was suicide. But something kept her rooted in place, staring around at the battlefield around her. Curiosity tugged at her like the insistent pawing of a needy child and she tried her best to shake it away and forget about it before it got her in trouble. She bit her lip, glanced over her shoulder, and bounced her weight from foot to foot. Then, her better judgment losing the battle, she knelt and pulled a dead infected stormtrooper, rolling him over so his ridged battle helmet faced up toward the shattered and flickering illuminators above.

The white armor plating hit the grated floor with a _crack_. The woman winced at the sound, but didn't let it deter her from the terrible decision she was currently making. The dead man's armor wasn't in great shape, but then nothing was on this Force-forsaken station. The normally pristine snow-white battle plate was dirty and smeared with equal parts muck and blood, chipped by flying shrapnel and warped here and there by the telltale burns of a lightsaber blade. His left arm was missing, sheared away at the shoulder by one of the weapons, and there was a livid diagonal burn across his chest. His helmet's eye-like visors were both shattered and the helmet's respirator was cracked and spitting sparks here and there.

She ground her teeth, cursing her stupidity even now, then reached out and unsealed his helmet with a flick of her wrists. There was a hiss of outrushing air and a spewing cloud of grayish smoke as the armor depressurized. With a little wriggling, she managed to remove the helmet and set it aside. As soon as she did she felt bile rising in her throat and put a hand to her mouth to stifle the urge to spew her last ration bar across the inside of her mask.

The man was little more than a skeleton, his eyes sunken and black and his cheeks hollow. He had chewed most of his lips away, leaving yellowed teeth bared to the open air. Blood stained his face from the nose down and his hair, peeking out from his skintight bodysuit hood, had gone a steely gray. His nose had been broken at some point during the battle and pointed off at an unnatural direction, and a fat tongue, turned a mottled purple-gray, lolled from the corner of his craggy maw.

"Kriff," she sighed. She sat back and rested her hands on her thighs. "They really did a number on you, didn't they?"

The body twitched. The armor made a grating _skrrt_ against the corrugated floor. She was instantly on her feet, two steps away, pistol drawn and sighted in on the dead man's face.

He didn't move again. After a few moments of silence, she lowered the weapon and took a step closer. Then another. Then she knelt again over the body. She triggered her portable holorecorder, tucked behind her ear like a wayward stylus. She reached out with cautious fingers and turned the man's emaciated head one way, then the other.

"What is causing these guys to waste away so quick?" she wondered aloud. "He can't be infected longer than an hour, maybe two. This is more than just some fancy new version of pneumonia."

The dead man's eyes opened. His teeth clacked together once, twice. He gurgled, then fixed those cold icy orbs on the woman kneeling over him. She was frozen in place, face frozen in the perfect picture of horror.

It clacked its teeth once more, then warbled out, "Hello, Kalyn."

Her curiosity evaporated like a droplet of water onto a Mustafar riverbank. She sprang up and away with a shouted curse. Her pistol came up and she mashed the firing stud, emptying the entire cartridge into the man's chest. The body twitched violently, dancing on the ground, and fell still when the bolts ceased.

All was still for a few moments, the air thick with grayish ion smoke. Kalyn's breath was coming in short, terrified gasps, her stare stretched wide and enslaved to the sight of the corpse on the floor before her.

The man opened his eyes. Kalyn turned and ran.


	9. Appetent Affliction

Things had gone south very quickly after Kalyn rejoined them.

"Whoa! Whoa!" Vhetin held his hands up in a desperate attempt to ease the situation that had so quickly torn their group apart. "Let's not do anything stupid."

"The only thing that is _stupid_ ," Inquisitor Abbadon snarled, his lit lightsaber sizzling and spitting sparks in his hand, "is your hunter friend thinking she could draw her weapon on Lord Vader and live to speak of it."

Kalyn gurgled indignantly, kicking her feet from where they dangled a good half-foot off the ground. She clutched at her throat with desperate, clawing fingers, clinging tight to the black-clad hand currently wrapped around her throat. Behind her, the assembled stormtroopers had formed up into ranks and — to a man — had their weapons trained on the bounty hunters. Even Sergeant Rigel was holding them at gunpoint, though he admittedly looked as if it was the last thing he wanted.

Darth Vader held Kalyn trapped in the air, his crimson saber snarling balefully in one hand. The huntress was beginning to turn blue from the force of his grip, but couldn't escape it no matter how hard she wriggled. That the Dark Lord had forgone his supernatural powers and was manhandling her personally only made the scene all the more terrifying.

 _She_ _'s lucky he didn't just rip her mask off_ , Vhetin thought. _If he breaks the seal of her armor_ _…_

"My lord," he said gently, as if talking down a rabid strill, "I'll keep her in line from now on. Even take her gun if you want. Just… just let her go so we can figure out why she…" He grimaced. "Why she tried to shoot you in the back. Okay?"

Vader was silent for a few impossibly long moments, staring at Kalyn's twisted and contorted features with no visible sign of life beside the dark wheeze of his respirator. For a moment, Vhetin was sure the man was going to snap her neck just to make a point.

But then he released her and stepped back to watch her sprawl in a heap at his feet. He took a single carefully-measured step away and rested his fists on his hips, effectively doubling his already considerable size. He nodded to the gasping pile of exhausted hunter on the floor before him.

"Speak."

Unfortunately for her, Kalyn chose not to speak. Instead, she sprang back to her feet and tried to punch at the black armor just within her reach. Vhetin moved forward to stop her, as did Sergeant Rigel.

This time, Vader didn't use physical force. There was an invisible concussive blast of energy, powerful enough to make everyone present flinch away from the epicenter of the pulse. Kalyn took the blow full in the chest and was sent flying through the air with a shocked _oof_ of air escaping her lungs.

She slammed into the bulkhead behind Vhetin, hard enough to warp the metal and break several illuminator lamps set up there. And she didn't fall when the thundering boom of the explosion echoed away down the dark hall; she remained there, squirming and groaning, pinned against the wall like a bug beneath a stormtrooper's boot.

"Speak," Vader pressed. He hadn't moved from his imposing stance, hadn't so much as waved a hand to summon his supernatural powers. He remained where he was, looming over them all like some obsidian monument. But even Vhetin, with no Force sensitivity to speak of, could feel the waves of pure rage that rippled out from the Dark Lord. The sensation bathed their entire group, making the stormtroopers present fidget and shift from boot to boot uncomfortably. Vhetin found himself breaking out in a slight cold sweat.

Still trapped against the wall, Kalyn coughed and fixed the towering man with a glare full of fire. Her hands clenched into fists as she fought against the invisible power holding her captive.

"Zombies?!" she demanded. "Kriffing _zombies_?! That's what you freaks were cooking up in here and you didn't _tell_ us?"

She struggled again and again was met with failure. "When were you going to let us know we were going up against the kriffing _undead_? Or were you planning on keeping that little gem locked up in your shiny black bucket?"

"Your candor does you no credit," Vader said, his voice carrying all the power and menace of rolling thunder.

"Then answer the damn question," she rasped back. "Did you know?"

"Yes."

There was shocked silence throughout the group for a moment. Then Gattor stepped forward and said, "Wait, wait, wait. That's not true. That's not what Blackwing is. I read the reports that come out of the science division. _Weaponized viral contaminants for use against embedded hostile populations_. That's what this place is about."

"You are correct, Sergeant."

Vhetin frowned behind his helmet. "But… it doesn't make sense. The Whiteclaw virus I saw just drove people insane. It didn't bring them back from the dead. That's impossible, even for the Empire."

He got the feeling the word _impossible_ wasn't used in Vader's presence often, judging by the way the stormtroopers suddenly shifted, stiffening and staring at him with obvious dread. But if Vader took offense, it didn't show. He simply took a sucking, hollow breath and rested his hands over his belt buckle.

"Not for a Sith."

Gattor looked to the Dark Lord and cocked his head quizzically. "W-what do you mean?"

Vader was silent for a few long moments, seeming to weigh his words very carefully. Kalyn was suddenly released from her spectral shackles and toppled to the ground again, coughing and clutching at her throat.

"The goal of Project Whiteclaw was indeed to study methods of biological augmentation," Vader began. "Great success in this field had been made during the Clone Wars, spearheaded by the master cloners of Kamino. It was believed that through careful genetic manipulation, the human potential could be driven to its absolute peak."

He gave Vhetin a pointed stare. "With or without the subject's approval."

Memories of what that looked like came all to easily to the forefront of the Mandalorian's mind. Images of being strapped to a table, of being stuck full of tubes and forced to be the breeding ground for a virus that would drive hardened men into the depths of insanity, that would transform them either into blubbering lunatics or bloodthirsty monsters.

Vader turned away with a gentle sweep of his cape, his gaze now falling to Kalyn once more. She was slowly picking herself back up to her feet, still unable to draw in a full breath.

"But the process," he continued, "was imperfect. The human genetic code, too fragile. The Kaminoans were used to manipulating genetics prenatally, creating changes and breeding superiority before any actual birth or growth could occur. Forcing the process to work on fully grown and trained soldiers was… substantially more difficult."

"You tried to use my DNA for your little science project," Vhetin translated, with more of a growl in his voice than he liked. "And when it turned out to be toxic to everyone but me, you scrapped the whole thing."

"When it was clear the project would be met with continued failure," Vader pointed a single accusatory finger at Vhetin, "and when this bounty hunter and his compatriots destroyed the research facility and almost all the data housed within, the Emperor chose to enact Whiteclaw's contingency orders."

"What contingency orders?" Rigel demanded.

"Blackwing."

Another heavy silence, at least until Vhetin dared to break it.

"Biological contaminants," he said. "Using my genes and the virus Whiteclaw built to wipe out entire populations of innocent people, turning their own dead into your obedient puppets."

"Spare me your misguided sense of morality, bounty hunter," Vader boomed, rounding on him again. "Blackwing was created as a deterrent, an elegant method of ensuring a hostile force's surrender before resorting to total war."

"Yes," Kalyn sneered, finally rising to her feet. "Because if you hold a gun to the head of the entire universe, they have no choice but to put down theirs."

Vader did not back down. "Precisely."

He gestured to the carnage and destruction surrounding them with a sweep of a black-gloved hand. "The virus Whiteclaw created was an admirable weapon. Swift, deadly, and capable of bringing the most entrenched enemy to their knees. But even then, it was… imperfect."

"So how do zombies factor in?" Rigel ventured. "Cause last I checked, poisoning rebels and raising the dead are two very different things."

Vader stared at the sergeant long enough for Vhetin to think he would quickly be pinned to the wall next to Kalyn. He got the impression Vader was quickly growing tired of subordinates questioning him and his motives. But the Imperial Supreme Commander eventually released an echoing exhalation and continued his tale.

"Shortly after Project Blackwing was formed," he explained, "the Emperor sent me to ensure his personal orders were carried out. He wished to make the virus more potent. More powerful. Deadlier than even the Whiteclaw scientists had dreamed."

"Of course. Because it wasn't bad enough already."

"My master provided me with a substance, the origin of which was unknown even to me. He instructed me to take this substance to the Project and ensure it was added to the research and fused with the virus."

"What kind of substance?"

"I… do not know," the Dark Lord admitted. "It is not my place to question the will of my master. It was viscous and black, not dissimilar from the preservative fluid already used by the Project to carry the virus."

Vhetin still had not-so-fond memories of vomiting up that fluid, knowing that whoever came in contact with it would be instantly infected with the virus his own body helped to create. He forced down the will to shudder and pressed, "So what made it different?"

"My spies were quick to report back to me," Vader explained, "claiming it was a plant extract harvested from a rare black flower, the Murakami orchid, known to grow only on select planets within the expanse of the Unknown Regions."

"How the kriff," Kalyn panted, "does kriffing flower paste do all of this?" She gestured to the ever-present bodies still scattered around them.

Vader surveyed the devastation with a disinterested air. "It is unclear," he said. "But the substance was exceedingly powerful and saturated with Force energy; far more than any other non-sentient object I have ever encountered. As such, I do not believe the orchid extract was the only substance I was given."

Kalyn and Vhetin exchanged a worried frown. "What do you mean?"

"There was something… else. Something hidden, deep within the cloud of latent Force power exuded by the plant. It is my belief that this orchid was merely a shell, a shield hiding the true nature of the substance. Even from me."

"So that's what's doing this? The… thing in the flower?" Kalyn frowned and folded her arms, still rubbing at her throat with one hand. "How can a flower do all of this?"

"There are aspects of the Dark Side," Vader said slowly, "even I dare not explore. The path to immortality teems with nightmares and monsters best left lost."

He drew up and returned to his earlier position, fists planted securely against his hips and cape billowing out around him. "My master does not share this sentiment."

"That's…" Vhetin glanced at Kalyn again, growing more worried with every word that boomed out from the Dark Lord's vocoder. "That's certainly dramatic, but it doesn't get us any closer to an answer."

"You asked for information," Vader said. "Be thankful I granted what I have."

It seemed like Vader was going to leave the matter there, but Kalyn wasn't quite finished. She sneered at the obsidian tower before her and said, "That still doesn't explain why the kriffing thing talked to me."

Vader paused.

"Yeah," the huntress said with a haughty tone. "Looked right at me and said, _Hello, Kalyn_. It knew me. I'm pretty sure that's outside the purview of a goddamn flower."

This was clearly new information, even to the Imperials. Together, the Supreme Commander and his minions pondered over the new revelation. The stormtroopers glanced between themselves, clearly uneasy at the prospect of communing with the dead in any fashion. Inquisitor Abbadon stroked his pale chin with a thoughtful frown, then looked to his master and said, "Could this be related to the presence we have felt?"

"Perhaps," Vader rumbled. "It remains reclusive, but if it seeks to communicate with the lowlier among us, it will not be long before it makes its presence known."

Kalyn fumed at Vader's words. He, however, did not grant her time to speak against him. The conversation clearly over, he brushed past and marched away down the hall. His Inquisitors, Abbadon and the ever-silent Urieth, were close on his heels.

"I shall scout ahead and attempt to draw out this mysterious entity," he said. "When I return, I expect this expedition team to be ready to move once more."

Gattor stared at the ground and murmured, "Yes, my lord," as Vader passed. The Dark Lord gestured with a hand and a sealed bulkhead scraped open with an ear-piercing grating and a splash of sparks. He turned and disappeared down the hall beyond. His Inquisitors followed close on his heels, ever the obedient servants.

Then they were alone.

Silence reigned for a few long moments. Then the stormtroopers began to fan out, quietly chattering to each other about the spectacle they had just witnessed. Gattor threw a quick nod to Vhetin, which the Mandalorian returned, before turning to the hazmat troopers to give them orders.

Vhetin let out a long breath, unaware he'd even been holding it. He was jittery in a way he greatly disliked, and he clenched his hands into fists so the others couldn't see how his fingers trembled.

"You okay?" he asked Kalyn.

The huntress nodded with a slight grimace, pressing a palm against her ribs while her other still massaged her throat. "I'll be fine. Besides, I'm not sure the Empire will spot me the cost for chiropractic work."

"You should count yourself lucky," he said. "Not everyone attacks Darth Vader like that and walks away with a simple backache."

"Yep," she grunted, limping away to talk with Gattor and his hazmat troops, "that's me. Lucky, lucky me."

He considered joining up with the patrols to scout for more hostiles in the area, but he knew he had greater priorities. With the situation effectively defused and no one under threat of being throttled by a Sith Lord any longer, he returned to his wounded partner's side once more.

She had been silent throughout the confrontation, though that was unsurprising given her condition. He had insisted she rest when they stopped, all but forcing her to sit and catch her breath. She looked so small, huddled against the bulkheads with her arms wrapped tight around herself and her legs splayed limply out in front of her. The midnight-black flight suit in which she had arrived was now stained with gore and blood — most of it hers.

As battered as she looked, his helmet's scanners told him she was doing well, or at least as well as one could be doing given the current circumstances. Her heart rate was steady and strong and her breath was deep and uninterrupted. She was sleeping at the moment, dozing off while she got the chance.

He knelt next to her, cocked his head, and gingerly brushed an errant strand of loose hair behind her ear. She stirred at the touch with a small groan of indignation. Tired brown eyes blinked open and she gingerly licked her dry and chapped lips.

"Hey there. How are you doing?" he asked.

In the long minutes since the last attack, Jay had turned a pale, greenish hue. The veins were dark beneath her skin and her eyes were sunken and hollow like she hadn't slept in days. Patches of her skin were red and blotchy-looking and her fingers twitched sporadically as if she wasn't in full control of her extremities.

He put a hand on her shoulder and she fidgeted again as if the simple touch burned like fire. When she looked up into the light, blinking in confusion and grimacing against the harsh illumination, he saw that her eyes, usually a warm and twinkling brown, were unnaturally dilated into large pools of midnight black. She fixed that wide-eyed stare on him and for a few long seconds, there was no recognition in her gaze. Then her expression slackened and she calmed.

"Oh…" she sighed and relaxed against the bulkhead. Her legs were spread out in front of her, left foot twitching and her fingers still thumping erratically against the floor. Her breath huffed out in an extended and drawn-out sigh. "I was hoping it was you."

"What do you need? Water? Food? I think I have a spare ration bar somewhere…"

"No," she shook her head, dislodging the hair he'd tucked behind her ear. It hung down over her eyes, but she made no motion to fix it and clear her field of vision. "Just wanted… wanted to talk."

He eased down into a sitting position next to her, cross-legged on the floor. "We have time. And I need to change your bandages. Talk away."

She licked her chapped lips again and offered him her wounded and bandaged neck for tending. He brushed away her hair, tucking it back into place behind her ear, and gently pulled the bloodied bandage from her flesh. She winced as the bandage was tugged free, but didn't move away.

He suppressed a grimace when her wound was thrown into the light, not caring that his helmet would have shrouded the expression. The wound on her neck had been effectively sealed, but the cauterization caused by his lightsaber's blade had left a messy, twisted mark along her collarbone. The skin was dried out and blackened, bleeding here and there where the cauterization didn't hit completely, but it was holding. Bacta treatments would heal much of the damage Vhetin himself had caused her, but no amount of healing salves would completely erase the mark from her skin. She would carry these scars for the rest of her life.

"You're not talking," he gently prodded her as he produced a fresh bandage from his utility belt. With tentative fingers, he doused it in a coat of bacta spray and pressed it against her neck, securing it to her skin.

Jay whimpered a little at the sensation, obviously in pain. When the suddenness of the feeling faded away, she let out a shaky breath. "I-I don't want you to blame yourself."

"For what?"

"For… this. All this. This isn't your fault."

"It's no one's fault," he lied.

"Come on," she glared at him, then broke down in a fit of weak coughing. He put a hand on her shoulder again, holding her propped up in a sitting position until she was finished. She wiped her mouth with the back of one shaky hand and let her head thump against the bulkhead.

"I know you," she gasped, wheezing for a full breath. "You blame yourself for what happened. You always blame yourself first. But this time… this time I won't let you."

"Good luck." He moved on to the bite on her thigh. This one was in much worse shape than the wound on her neck. Thankfully it hadn't hit anything vital, so it didn't need lightsaber treatment; he was sure they were both grateful for that.

The skin around the ragged puncture marks was quickly turning a dark reddish-brown — signs of necrosis, never good — and her veins were pulsing dark beneath her skin; the Blackwing virus certainly worked fast. The wound itself was covered with a hasty poultice of sorts, a mix of bacta and synthflesh that had stopped the worst of her bleeding before she passed out, but it wouldn't last. It made their expedition to the medical wing all the more important. Every second they spent waiting here — under orders from Vader or not — was a second lost on the clock currently counting down on her life.

She wouldn't be able to walk on her own much longer. He'd have to carry her. He'd be happy to if necessary. He finished redressing the wound before sitting back on his haunches with a weary sigh.

"I'm your partner," he said. "It's my job to protect you from things like this."

"We're supposed to protect each other," she insisted, holding back another cough. "Watch each other's backs."

His voice was grim. "And I wasn't watching yours."

"Cin…" She sighed, more out of exasperation than any real anger, "I thought we'd gotten past this ages ago. You don't need to hover over my shoulder when we're out here. I'm not—"

She coughed again, her arms and legs unconsciously drawing up into a fetal-like position. When she loosened up, her eyes were squeezed shut as if the very act of staying awake was a great chore. She eventually swallowed with difficulty and continued. "I'm not some random girl who gets queasy at the sight of some blood. I can take care of myself. Even in a situation like this."

"If that were true," he said, "we wouldn't _be_ in this situation."

She glanced at him with a frown and he clarified, "If I'd had any sense, I would have asked you to stay home. I would have brought someone else, a Mandalorian, to help. Janada or Rame or —"

"And we both know what I would have said to that," she pointed out. Her chin raised indignantly in a look that would have been defiant if she didn't look so weak. "You can't just drop me whenever you think something is too dangerous. I'm not the kind of woman who lets her friends risk their lives while she sits at home on the couch."

She turned away. "You know me better than that."

He hesitated as he continued applying pressure to the bandage on her leg. Against both his will and his better judgment, he found his mind drifting back to his conversation with Denton before they left for the station.

" _We both know this is more dangerous than usual,_ " the man had said, " _and she_ _'s no Mandalorian."_

He hung his head, staring at his hands resting in his lap. "Still… this is my business, Jay, not yours. It's not my place to make you fight my battles."

"Dammit, Cin." She let out a quiet curse, obviously irritated now. "Even after all this time… you don't really understand do you?"

"Understand what?"

"Us," she said, gesturing between them. "Our partnership. Our… relationship."

She fixed him with a bleary stare. He forced himself to return that stare and suppressed a shudder. How many times had he looked at her this same way? Yet where he'd once seen only his partner, the one person he trusted above all others, he now saw something unnatural. Something terrifying in its unfamiliarity and in its insinuation that the young woman he knew was wasting away before his eyes.

She coughed again. This time when she wiped her mouth, the back of her gloved hand was smeared with something sticky and black. His heart plummeted into his gut when he saw it, but he did his best not to draw attention to it.

"You have a talent," she said, her voice noticeably weaker than before, "for dragging me into stupid situations. Life-threatening situations. Situations that, frankly, I shouldn't be in."

He hung his head in shame and didn't try to contradict her. He only looked up when he felt her shaky fingers touch his helmet, just under the chin. She pulled his gaze back up to her, to look back into those dark, dark eyes.

"But even through all that," she said, "there's nowhere I'd rather be. If I regretted working with you, being put in places like this, I would have left Mandalore months ago."

She put a hand on his armored shoulder in a traditional Mandalorian sign of solidarity. She squeezed, as tight as her weakened state would allow, and held his helmeted stare.

"My place is here." She insisted. "With you. To whatever end."

Her hand trembled and lost its strength, thudding back to the bulkhead. Her eyelids flickered and closed. The conversation was clearly over, and she would hear no more on the matter.

"Plus," she suddenly added, "you're totally giving me hazard pay once we're out of here. Time and a half and a half, from your own pocket. And you're paying my medical bills."

He cracked a reluctant smile he knew she couldn't see. "Seems fair enough."

"Better be." She broke down coughing again. This time when her eyes closed, they stayed closed. His helmet's HUD showed she was still breathing — shallow, but more than enough to keep her conscious — and her heart rate was still strong. He only hoped she got some rest while she could.

He sighed and fixed her hair once more, trailing his thumb across her pale forehead as he did. His smile quickly faded, replaced by a dark and haunted grimace.

"I appreciate your loyalty, Jay," he said, not caring that she couldn't hear. "But I won't let you die here. Not for me."

Her earlier words echoed back to him, like the whisper of an unwanted specter in his ear.

 _Sometimes_ , she had said, _it isn_ _'t up to you._

* * *

When Jay was a little girl, there had been a shack hidden far out in the countryside. The local children had claimed it was haunted, while the adults whispered it had once been a deathstick den. It was a place of ill repute no matter who observed it, a place where only the foolish or the suspicious traveled. But the rumors didn't stop children from exploring it, on a dare or spurred on by an adventurous nature.

Jay had unsurprisingly been of the latter and had one day crept into the run-down house armed only with a stick in one hand and a rock in the other. Her mind had been full of images of hidden trapdoors hiding great rancor pits, of secret smuggler's stashes or pirate hideouts. Maybe even buried treasure!

Reality, as is so often the case, was a great deal less exciting. There was nothing inside the house but dust, rubble, and a few slimy mynock nests. Broken-down furniture lay piled in the corners and the ceiling bowed overhead, ready to cave in at the slightest provocation. The entire place stank of rot and urine and the wood planks beneath her feet were uncomfortably soft whenever she put her foot down.

She had wandered with clear unhappiness through the various dirty rooms, kicking a rock with one boot. She was sorely disappointed and had half a mind to head back to town and give Torvyyn — the boy who'd told her about the place — a right good thrashing for his lies about monsters and ghosts.

But the house hid one dark secret. She had stumbled across it as she entered the main living room. As soon as her foot crossed the threshold she heard a high-pitched clicking, like a rusty speeder engine trying to turn over. She had frozen in place, makeshift weapons hanging forgotten by her side.

Something in the room, something big and dark, had twitched and unfurled. She watched it, thinking absently that it looked almost like the Confederate droidekas she saw on the HoloNet. But where destroyer droids sported bronzed armor plating and a silvered infrastructure, this thing had been covered in spiny, brownish chitin and flexing appendages. Multifaceted black eyes sparkled in the rays of the sun that had streamed down through holes in the decaying roof.

The thing raised itself up onto four segmented legs and flexed its front graspers, cocking its frilled head while it let out another long, trilling chatter. Jay watched this with wide eyes and backed away, instantly terrified.

A dalyrake! It was a _dalyrake_!

She hadn't had time to marvel over the creature before the insectoid sprang into action. It had scurried forward with an earsplitting screech, arms waving wildly and sharp feet pattering against the rotted panels of the floor beneath it. Jay tried to turn and run, but her heel caught in a dip in the ground and she crashed onto her backside with a cry of mingled surprise, pain, and horror.

 _You_ _…_

She still didn't know what drove her to swing her stick, but whatever it was had saved her life. The stick came up between her and the dalyrake and its sharp graspers clasped on the wood instead of around her tiny head.

Jay had screamed as the insectoid beast fell on her, pinning her to the ground with its weight. Its head snapped forward and tried to bite her, its maw gnashing dangerously close to her nose. It screeched again and tried to wrestle her stick away, but she refused to let go. She had held on to that stick with every ounce of strength available to her twelve-year-old body.

It wasn't enough. The dalyrake had suddenly arched, its rear end looming up above her. A sharp, knife-like barb glinted in the dim light for a moment before it struck forward and hit her in the shoulder. Her arm was instantly overwhelmed with a numbing cold and she had screamed, long and loud. But even in her agony, as her entire body was plunged into a steadily-spreading pool of ice, she refused to let go of the stick, somehow maintaining her grip. The dalyrake snapped at her again, pulling its sting back and preparing to strike again.

 _Who are you?_

She hadn't heard someone else enter the house. Surprising, considering how much gear he'd been wearing. But she had definitely heard the _snap_ of a blaster rifle. The ensuing flash of blue-white flame had almost blinded her, leaving the world hazy and unfocused.

Something white raced past her face and the dalyrake's weight had been suddenly ripped from her chest. The great bug flew back and crashed to the ground a few feet away. The boot that had kicked it thumped down next to her head and a flurry of new shots cracked the world around her. The dalyrake staggered back, its carapace punctured in at least five different places and oozing black blood on the ground. The blood sizzled when it hit the floor, sending up thin tendrils of smoke as it burned.

 _POW_!

A final shot had hit the dalyrake right in its frilled head and it exploded in a wash of blackish gore. The body had lurched powerfully, sprawling forward onto the ground with a crash. Its legs continued to twitch long after, even after Jay had been taken from the house.

Another boot thudded next to her head. Through streaming eyes, she had looked up to see polished white armor and black fabric hiding beneath. A smoking blaster pistol was clenched in one hand, quickly holstered back on a segmented, angular utility belt.

"You're a long way from home, little one."

The clone trooper had knelt next to her and put a surprisingly gentle hand behind her head, helping her up to a sitting position. Even that gentle motion had sent fire racing through her arm, struck by the dalyrake's poison barb. The trooper had seen the wound and let out a gravelly grunt.

"Yep," he'd rasped through his helmet's vocoder. "That's gonna need some tending to. You're lucky Sawbones is in the area."

 _You are different_ _…_

Jay had clasped her wounded arm and stammered out, "S-Sawbones?"

"Sawbones," he'd repeated. "The squad medic. He'll take a look at you, make sure there's no lasting damage. Dalyrakes are rare around these parts, but those stings pack quite a punch."

Jay could agree with that. She had let the trooper help her back to her feet, whimpering at the pain now throbbing through her extremities. It felt like her entire arm, from the collarbone down, had swelled up like an overinflated balloon.

"You from around here?" the trooper had inquired. Jay had dutifully provided her home address. The trooper nodded at the information. "It's on the way. We'll help you back home, explain to your people what happened. You're lucky I was passing through on patrol, you know. Dalyrakes are very aggressive. A little girl like yourself is easy pickings for them."

 _You are new_ _…_

She didn't remember much about the rest of that day, or the ones that had followed. The troopers did indeed patch up her wound and provide treatment for the poison, but it still had quite the effect on her. She burned with fever for two weeks afterward, unable to keep any food down and barely able to drink water. Her throat had swollen dangerously and her arm had swollen even worse. It was miserable, more miserable than anything she had felt in her life.

The feeling now was not so different. That hazy state of existence, when the body couldn't conceive of barely anything more than how awful it felt. The world took on a fuzzy, timeless nature and faces wavered in and out of her field of vision like a parade of warped reflections in a funhouse mirror.

She could see the world around her, could watch and limp along as the column of Imperials continued their trek deeper into the station. They encountered more pockets of infected here and there, but the snarling, ravenous men and women were quickly put down by precise blasts from Imperial weaponry. Jay flinched with every shot fired, her guts churning like writhing snakes every time a body thudded to the ground.

Cin helped her as best he could, supporting her with her arm around his plated shoulders. He was talking to her as they hobbled along, but she was far past being able to understand. His voice was soothing, an anchor with which she could keep herself awake, but not much else. Kalyn was just ahead, pistol sweeping over the bodies left behind by the Imperials as if she believed they would spring back to their feet at any moment. Then again, given what she'd reported earlier that was perhaps not as outlandish as one would think.

As she passed, one of the corpses suddenly opened its eyes. They were bloodshot and unfocused, but they followed her as she limped past. There was something in that gaze that chilled her to her very core.

 _Very good_ _… you are learning…_

She twitched, her face contorting with a sharp jerk as if stung by an annoying insect. She licked her chapped and dry lips and swallowed with tremendous difficulty. The sight in front of her wavered like a faulty hologram and she blinked in a vain attempt to clear her vision. Was she about to lose consciousness again? She didn't think so. This was something different.

She craned her aching neck to look at the dead body again. It's eyes were closed. She wondered if they had ever opened, or if it was simply a figment of her fevered imagination.

Something skittered across the hall in front of them, all twisted legs and glistening chitin. Its legs clicked hard against the corrugated metal floor with a staccato _tap, tap, tap_ before it vanished into the shadows on the other side of the hall.

She recoiled, instantly recognizing the hard edges and claws of the dalyrake. Vhetin tensed beside her, squeezing her arm and murmuring something in a muffled voice that sounded like, "Hey, are you all right?"

Whatever it was she'd seen, it was gone now. She stared through blurry vision, eyes raking over the shadows of the hallway. Then slowly, slowly, she forced herself to relax and continue limping down the hall.

A minute passed before she heard it again; the sharp tapping of mandibles racing up behind her. She could hear it as clear as day, could hear the chittering as the dalyrake gnashed its mandibles in preparation for a quick meal. She cried out and tore herself free from her partner's grip, spinning to face the onrushing beast.

Nothing was there. Just a few confused stormtroopers and a dark hallway littered with blood and bodies. She stared, uncomprehending for a few moments, before her strength failed her and she knees buckled. Cin was instantly at her side again, an arm under hers and a hand at the small of her back, hauling her to her feet and supporting her with his own strength.

"I've got her," she heard him saying. "She's fine."

She was far from fine, but she no longer had the power to claim otherwise. Her head lolled against the hard planes of the Mandalorian's epaulet, eyelids fluttering. A great weariness welled up within her, invading every crevice of her already-exhausted mind. It was as if she were sinking into some vast and fathomless ocean, slipping silently down into a deep and impenetrable darkness.

But with mounting terror and revulsion, she soon realized she was not alone in that darkness. Something was sinking with her, something infinitely larger and more powerful than she could ever hope to be. Like a minnow swimming alongside a whaladon, she was dwarfed by its mere existence, thrown into its shadow as it passed.

And as it passed, it _looked_ at her.

She instantly recoiled, forgetting that the image was within her mind alone. She shrank against her partner's side with a pained whimper, trying to crawl into his shadow to free herself from the gaze of this thing, this… _other_.

But the thing looked at her. And it continued to look.

 _Where do you think you_ _'re running?_

The voice was inside her too, deep and rumbling at once like a purring cat and a snarling beast. It echoed within the confines of her skull, twisting at her senses until she wanted nothing more than to cover her ears and scream. But even now in this strange, half-lucid state, she knew it would have no effect. She was in _it_ _'s_ territory now, and there was no escaping so long as that sightless stare remained fixed on her.

 _Where can you go?_ it asked. _Where can you hide? Where can you run, that I have not already found?_

"W-w-" her lips struggled to form the words. "W-what are you?"

The massive thing in her mind, this great beast that towered over her thoughts, trembled with something akin to mirth. The reverberations of such "movement" sent Jay cringing again, face screwed up in equal parts fear and pain.

 _What am I?_ the beast echoed. _What are you? What are you but an ant beneath my feet, a mote of dust in the endless, lifeless desert? What are you really except an animate sack of meat and bone reaching for the stars?_

She could hear Cin talking to her again in his far-off, echoing voice. She ignored him with more ease than she would have liked to admit. Instead, she focused on this strange visitor.

 _I am a ageless mind, swimming within a timeless sea_ , the entity said. _Drifting through the eons, turning my gaze to the whispering world below only to draw strength from its denizens. To feed_ _…_

At that word, _feed_ , an unnatural and greatly uncomfortable shiver ran up her spine. She flinched as it made its way through her body; it was as if something else was shaking her at her very core, as if some invisible hand had reached into her and rattled her bones against her knowledge and will. A trembling array of whispers rang through her ears at the word as well, an excited chorus of echoes all whispering, _feed_ _… feed… feed…_

Was it Vader? Was he using some trick on her? Some long-forgotten Jedi practice, used to unsettle an opponent before bringing the killing blow? Her paranoia screamed at her that she was right, that the hissing, obsidian-clad warrior was coming for her even now. But the small rational part of her mind that remained in this hazy hell whispered something very different.

This wasn't Vader. This was something else. Something far more dangerous.

"What d-do you want?"

Another amused trembling from the infinite black being. The beast fixed that stare on her again and with a voice as soft and sinister as fresh poison in her veins, it whispered in her ear.

 _I want to eat._

That same unnatural power seemed to overtake her and her stomach growled loudly at the being's words. She shivered again, this time in control of the motion, and tightened her grip on Vhetin's shoulder. She could still feel him out there, somewhere, beyond the quickly-darkening veil that was descending over her vision.

"Cin," she managed to gasp. Her voice caught in her dry throat, stuck fast like something was desperately trying to drag it back down. "Cin, something's wrong."

"What?" she heard his voice reverberate toward her. "What is it?"

Her legs gave out and she crumpled to the ground, dragging him with her. Distantly, she was aware of the Imperials turning toward her at the sound. Kalyn was kneeling on her other side, concern written across every feature visible through her angular oxygen mask. She could sense their unease and confusion, could _feel_ Darth Vader's hidden gaze on her. But somehow even his cold darkness seemed to pale in comparison to the evil now slithering through her veins.

 _Don_ _'t you want to eat?_ the beast inquired, still whispering in her ear as close and intimate as an erstwhile lover. _To fill the desire for sustenance? To feel your gut swell with precious meat? To be satiated by warmth and fullness and the comfort of security?_

Her stomach groaned loudly again at the words and she had to admit, a good meal did sound heavenly. But something deep inside her screamed to resist and she shoved such thoughts away with all the vigor and venom of a wrathful child. She was left trembling on the cold deck, clutching her arms around herself while she heard voices arguing above her. Vhetin, no doubt shouting back and forth with the Imperials who wanted to leave her behind.

"C-Cin," she croaked. "S-something's _here_ …"

 _Perhaps food is not the sustenance you seek_ , the voice said pensively. _Perhaps you are consumed by a hunger of another kind._

Her body suddenly flooded with warmth and a very different kind of ache settled in her gut. Images began to race through her mind, sounds began to play in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut to drive them away but only succeeded in making them all the clearer.

She saw flesh bared to open air, saw fingers gripping so tight the tips where white with pressure. She saw moist lips parted, cheeks swollen red with excitement. She saw herself pinning Vhetin to the bulkhead wall, tearing his helmet from his head and claiming lips she had never seen with her own in a fevered, desperate kiss. She heard excited moans, hers and his, echoing through the empty halls. She felt herself ripping the plating from his body, exposing his pale, scar-ravaged skin to the cold open air of the station and—

"No!" She banished these thoughts as well, thrashing back and forth from her position on the ground. Strong hands came out of nowhere and suddenly pinned her. This only succeeded in making her kick and jerk with increasing desperation. "No, no, no, make it _stop!_ _"_

The images — and the hunger for them — did not stop. If anything, they grew until they threatened to overwhelm her. She saw herself shedding her own clothes, tossing them carelessly to the ground next to Cin's discarded armor plating. She pushed him to the ground and descended on him, hands on his shoulders and legs framing his hips. She would have him here, on the floor, amidst all the carnage and blood and death and—

And instead of doing what her body was so desperately craving, she instead saw herself hunch over and sink her teeth into the meat of his neck. She heard his screams, felt his hands pummeling her face and torso in a vain attempt to dislodge her. She ignored him. He was nothing. Nothing but food now. Blood poured between her teeth and she tore deeper into his flesh, ripping great chunks from him and swallowing, feeling them slide slimy and whole down her gullet and into her waiting, aching, _wanting_ belly—

She jerked her eyes open and let out a long, wailing scream. Her back arched, her fingers clawed at open air as she fought against the hands still pinning her to the ground. Someone growled that she needed to be shut up, that her screams would draw the infected. And indeed she heard them in the distance, screeching and screaming to answer her call.

Then her vision was filled with angular black armor. She recoiled for a moment, sure it was Vader come to finish the job he had started so long ago on Corulag. But as her vision sharpened, she saw it was her partner who was kneeling over her, cradling her head in soft, gloved hands.

"Jay," he was saying, "Jay, I need you to listen to me."

Her screams died away to pained whimpers. Tears were running freely down her cheeks now. "It h-hurts, Cin. It _hurts_."

"I know." His voice wavered, but didn't break. "I know it does. But we need to move. We need to get you to the doctors so they can fix this."

 _There is no_ fixing _this_ , the beast boomed, loud and terrible to all her senses. _There is no fixing this because there is nothing to fix. There is only the hunger. Only the most basic of desires, the oldest of drives. The drive to eat, to hunt and kill and feed and eat and eat and—_

"Jay, listen to me. I am not going to let you die here. I don't care if I have to carry you to the doctors—"

 _—and eat and eat and eat—_

"—but we are getting out of this _together._ Come on. I've got you."

An ice-cold wave sprouting through her neck, chilling her to her very core. A bacta injection.

With the influx of bacta, the voice suddenly died away to a dull murmur, drawing back like a predatory feline into the cover of darkness. The beast was still watching her, but knew it's time had not yet come. She took a deep, full breath — her first in too long — and let out a wracking cough that doubled her up and sent sticky black fluid splattering across her partner's helmet. When she sucked in breath again she could feel a deep rattle in her chest, in her lungs.

"That should keep the infection at bay," Vhetin was saying above her. "For a while anyway. It should help you feel better until we get to the medical bay."

Strangely, she felt like laughing. As she felt the bacta continue its sluggish path through her body, she thought, _He doesn_ _'t know… he doesn't hear it…_

She tried to tell him, tried to recount the horrid interaction she'd just had with this shadowy entity. But her lips felt swollen and numb and strength was quickly fading from her body. Darkness crowded at the edges of her vision, threatening to overwhelm her and send her careening into the void of unconsciousness. She knew she couldn't let that happen. She knew if she did, Cin and Kalyn and all the rest would be at the mercy of the infected they did not truly understand.

She knew if she fell unconscious, that _thing_ would be waiting for her.

Kalyn's voice now, the words meant for Cin. "We have to move."

"I know. I've got her."

She was hauled to her feet again, her head lolling against her partner's strong shoulder. His progress was slow as he half-dragged her after the others already drawing further ahead down the hall. But he never stopped holding her, never strayed from her side even when she dug her fingers so tight into his arm it was sure to hurt.

"How're we doing, Jay?" he asked. "Are you hanging in there?"

"I'm…" her voice was slurred, her tongue feeling too thick and numb to form cohesive words. "M'okay. M'okay…"

"How do you feel? I need you to keep talking to me."

"Feel…" she struggled to form the words. "I feel… I feel hungry…"

Deep inside her, the beast smiled.


	10. More Than Blood

"Cin?"

"Yeah."

"You… you ever give Tamai flowers?"

"Flowers?"

"Mm-hmm."

He glanced at her. "Uh… yeah. Yeah, I give her flowers. Sometimes."

Her head lolled against his shoulder, her cheek pressed against the cold, hard planes of his epaulet. It was nice. It cooled her fever the slightest bit. "She like them?"

"I hope so."

"Hmm. Denton gave me flowers. Last week. A bouquet of Mantellian roses."

"Romantic."

"I didn't like them."

He glanced at her again. "Didn't you?"

"Uh-uh. Smelled like shit."

He snorted a laugh. "Did you tell him that?"

"No." She shook her head to the best of her ability. The motion made her neck wound throb dangerously, so she quickly stopped before the pain overwhelmed her. "Does that make me a bad girlfriend?"

"You're asking the wrong person, Jay."

She frowned. "I don't think I am. A bad girlfriend, I mean."

"You would be the ultimate authority."

She could barely feel her feet thumping against the ground anymore. Her fingers had long ago begun to tingle like she'd left them tucked too long beneath her arms and they'd fallen asleep. Her vision wavered in and out of focus, but she could still hear well enough. She forced herself to keep talking; it was the only thing keeping her awake and away from the clutches of the… other thing.

"He didn't want me to come here. Denton." She licked her too-dry lips with a too-dry tongue. "He was mad that I decided to go with you."

"I'm… not surprised."

"Said your fights aren't my fights," she continued. "That I should let you solve your own problems."

"Can't deny the man has a point."

She frowned deeper, but couldn't summon the strength to move more than that. She wasn't sure she wanted to. Every muscle ached, every motion sent fire through her body and threatened to send her pitching forward onto the floor. A roiling, churning sensation was building in her gut, coiling and uncoiling like some serpent winding its way through her intestines. Her eyelids fluttered and her head felt like it had swelled to the size of a grossly pulsating balloon. How she was still standing was a mystery beyond her current capacity for comprehension.

"He says I like you too much," she choked out. "That you're going to get me killed."

"We've been over this before. I'm not going to let you die here, Jay."

"Mmm…"

She managed to focus her hazy vision toward her strangely numb feet and found that the reason she couldn't feel them hitting the floor was because they weren't. Vhetin was carrying her, tucked into his arms like a groom carrying his new bride.

She recoiled a bit, protesting the position. "What… what're you doing?"

"You collapsed again. Couldn't walk on your own."

"You… you don't need to carry me. I can walk on my—"

"I'd rather you just rest. I'm not sure Lord Vader will let us fall too far behind and I'd feel a lot better if we both stuck close to the group. Safety in numbers, right?"

"You do realize that means it's only safer because other people are fodder for whatever's hunting you?"

"I'm aware."

She groaned and curled up tighter, ceasing her already weak struggle to free herself and stand on her own. She could feel exhaustion tugging at her eyelids but somehow willed herself to stay awake. Her gaze fell on the confusing, hazy view of the world beyond her cradle: she saw dirty corridors and bloodstained security checkpoints marred with battle scars and blaster burns. Occasionally they passed a viewport and she glimpsed the stars, gently twinkling in the void outside, so far beyond the hellhole in which they were all trapped like captive rats. They had to pause every so often to allow the rest of the group to cut down a wandering pack of infected. She could hear their warbling, croaking cries and the crack of the blaster fire that mowed them down and she made sure to keep her eyes on the stars during those long and frantic minutes.

 _Eyes on the stars_ , some long-forgotten voice whispered to her. _Eyes on the stars, Jay-jay. In here might be a nightmare, but out there is nothing but light._

Thankfully, none of the roaming packs were anywhere near the numbers they'd faced in the initial assault, so close to the safe zone. The infected they cut down here came in groups of five or six, maybe ten if the sounds of fighting brought others hungry at the prospect of prey worth hunting. Vhetin told her it was because the infected had smelled the fresh meat in the safe zone and crowded there hoping for a meal, while out here the pickings were scarce and the hostiles were spread out more. If it was meant to be a comfort, it was a pretty poor one. He was about to say more when his voice was overpowered by the warbling scream of an infected woman dying her second death.

 _Eyes on the stars, Jay-jay_

And after each assault came the corpses. Jay saw each of them as she was carried past. Men and women, officers and scientists and stormtroopers, all twisted into a hideous mess of bloated limbs, blood, and shattered plastoid and held in a flailing, frozen paroxysm of death. One of the infected officers had a still-smoking hole burned through his forehead. As she passed him by, the dead man opened his eyes and smiled at her.

She flinched in Vhetin's arms, shrinking against the protection of his armor plating. But when she looked again the infected man's face was still and serenely dead; eyes closed, bloody mouth slack. It had just been her imagination.

Or perhaps it was the imagination of the… other thing. The beast still lurked inside her, smug and superior with its quiet patience. It had drawn back since that first terrifying attack of mind against mind, that invasion of Jay's innermost thoughts that still sent her spine crawling every time she recalled the sensation. The bacta Vhetin supplied to seal her wounds and keep the infection at bay kept it quiet, at least.

Quiet. Not silent.

 _It would be so easy_ , it whispered even now. _So easy to just reach up and bite. Right in the throat, where his armor is virtually nonexistent. Bite through his flight suit to get at the sweet flesh below, sink your teeth deeper and deeper and—_

She squeezed her eyes shut and forcefully pushed the voice away. The beast receded deep into the recesses of her hazy mind, still with an air of victory, like a feline hunter toying with its prey. They both knew it had won already. It was only a matter of time before she succumbed to the poison racing through her veins. And time was the one thing it had in excess.

She forced her lips to move again, forced her throat to cough up words to smother the ones creeping up on her from within. She didn't try to move. Her partner's hard armor, while uncomfortable as pillows went, felt cool against her fevered flesh.

"Cin?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you… afraid of dying?"

He looked down at her. Though his face was still sealed within his helmet, she got the distinct impression he was frowning at her. "What did I say about talking like that?"

"I'm serious. Are you afraid?"

He was silent for a long time. When he did speak, his voice was low and tight. It was the voice of a man who was deeply uncomfortable with the subject but was also resigned to telling the truth regardless. She had earned that much from him.

"No," he said. "No, I don't suppose I am afraid."

She shifted a little so she could look up at him. "Why not?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's from all the close calls I've had. Maybe it's because of my Mando training."

When she didn't respond, he sighed and clarified, "All I know is that when my end comes — when it _really_ comes and there's no doubt about it — I won't try to run from it. A warrior should know when to accept his end."

She wondered if that's what she was doing now, in this strange half-dreaming state. The beast had told her she didn't have to die here. The beast had told her it would grant her new life as a hunter of hunters, consumed by the eternal urge to kill and consume. But if the choice came down to death or living in whatever the infected called a life… well, she wasn't sure death was the worse option.

"Then… what are you afraid of?"

"Failure," he replied, still in that blunt tone. "I'm afraid of leaving the ones I care about. Being taken from this world when they still need me."

"Why would they be in danger?"

"I'm a Mandalorian, Jay," he said. A note of wry humor had entered his voice now. "When I go, it won't be peacefully asleep in my bed. A good warrior dies fighting, surrounded by enemies on all sides. I guess… I guess I'm afraid of what those enemies might do once I'm gone."

A fair enough point. She saw another dead man's smile and shivered against her unyielding metal resting place. When she looked again, the man's leer was again only a passing hallucination. She took a shaky breath.

"I don't want to die."

"I know."

"Not here. Not in this place."

He sighed. "I know."

"Does that make me a coward? You don't fear death, but I do."

"It does _not_ make you a coward," her partner said with finality. "You're not a Mandalorian."

"I know," she said, unconsciously echoing him. "But—"

"But _nothing_. My people are taught to treat things differently. We're _trained_ to treat things differently. It's not a weakness to not have that training. And you are _not_ a coward."

She coughed and felt something sticky coat her lips. She wiped it away with a trembling forearm and the sleeve of her flight suit came away smeared with black goo.

"Right about now," she said hoarsely, "I think I'd like a bit of that training."

"There'll be plenty of time to drill you on Mandalorian death philosophy once we get you back home."

 _This is your home now_ , the beast hissed in her ear. _The only home you will ever need, rich with meat and prey. The perfect place to kill and feed and—_

"I'm scared, Cin."

A short nod. "I know."

"I… I feel like I shouldn't be. That it's somehow… unprofessional."

"Everyone feels fear."

"You're not afraid."

"You don't think so?"

She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his cool armor again. "You're always so… so calm. All the time. Even when all the world is crashing down around you, you just… pick yourself up and keep going."

She sighed, feeling her temples throbbing dangerously. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to chase away the sensation, but only succeeded in compounding it. Her face twisted into a painful grimace. "I wish I was like you. But I'm not."

"You're not," he agreed. Then, to her surprise, he added, "You're better."

"W-what?"

"I don't know if you've noticed," he said, "but I'm not exactly a model for safe and stable living. But you… you have a chance at normal life."

He sighed and shifted his hold on her. His gaze was fixed on the hall ahead, never straying as they continued their march through this dead station filled to bursting with its dead occupants.

 _Dead and dying_ , she reminded herself. The next few hours would decide which she truly was.

"One day," Vhetin said, drawing her attention away from such morbid thoughts, "years from now, you'll retire from this business. You'll settle down. You'll have a husband and kids. A family of your own. You'll grow old with them and you'll die with them. Like normal people do."

"And you won't?"

He was silent for a long time. When he spoke his voice was… off again. Like something was trying to strangle him from within. She knew the feeling.

"No," he said. "My fate is to die fighting. It's what I was made for. It's what I'll be remembered for."

"You sound… you sound like you don't like that."

"It doesn't matter what I like. It's what is expected of me. What's always been expected of me. _Live for your clan_ , my old marksmanship coach used to say. _You live for your clan, and when the time comes you die for your clan. No Mandalorian can ask for more._ It's why I won't let you die here, Jay."

She looked up at him with bleary eyes. "Why?"

"Because…" he hesitated. "Because I am afraid of dying. Sort of."

Ahead, the _snap_ of blaster fire rang down the hall to them. It was quickly followed by an inhuman screech and the harsh buzz of a slashing lightsaber. The scream fell abruptly silent. Jay cringed. The beast smiled.

"I'm afraid of dying," Vhetin continued, "with nothing to die for. With no family to lay down my life for. With no _reason_ to die beyond death itself. Without Rame or Janada or Brianna…"

He paused a half-second before adding, "Without you."

He trailed off and she didn't push him further. But he wasn't finished just yet.

"When I pass, I want there to be people left to mourn me. Otherwise… well, we Mandalorians have a term for it," he said. " _Naasad aliit_. No-Clan. It's reserved for Mandalorians who die without leaving behind anyone to remember them. With no one around to mourn them or even remember what they were like when alive."

Another chorus of blaster fire and screams ahead of them. They both ignored the noise.

"Some of the more spiritual among us," Cin continued, "believe a Mando's soul can only rest in the _Manda_ — heaven if you prefer — so long as their life and deeds are remembered among the living. And if they aren't remembered, their spirit just… wastes away. Gone forever."

"You've—" she coughed into her sleeve again and again it came away spattered with black. "You've never been much of a spiritualist."

"I'm not," he agreed. "But I admit the concept still scares me. That I could move on from this world and no one would even remember I existed at all. That one day I might be just another pile of bones, unworthy of even a passing glance as people walk over my grave. That everything I've done, everything I've sacrificed, would be reduced to nothing but… but ash on the wind."

 _Keep your eyes on the stars, Jay-jay_

The beast stirred now, catching her in its petrifying gaze and whispering in her ear. She shivered as its presence swelled within her again; she could feel it rising in her like a wave of nausea in her gut. And when it spoke, she spoke with it. Her lips moved with its lips, her voice joined with its voice.

"Nothing lasts forever," they said.

He was silent for a long time after that.

* * *

She didn't know when it happened. When _it_ finally took control. Maybe it was when she was plunged into a fitful slumber, bundled up against Vhetin's armored chest. Maybe it was when her eyes flickered open to see Darth Vader, that hated, horrible man looming in the hall ahead of her like a dark tower on the not-so-distant horizon. Or, far more frightening, maybe it had _always_ been in control. From the moment that infected man had plunged his teeth into her neck, it had been in control.

She didn't know. She didn't even care to wonder. All she knew was that one minute she was resting in her delirium, watching through watery and unfocused vision as hall after hall and corpse after corpse passed them by. But then an unnatural strength flooded through her like an explosion, like a wildfire in dry brush. It raced through her with purpose, sensation blooming within every fiber of her ragged and ravaged body.

And then she was flailing and screaming and cursing. She drew herself up in Vhetin's arms and grabbed for his head, wrenching it to the side as she buried her teeth into his neck. She felt his hands grabbing at her, batting her clawing fingers from his helmet, trying to keep her at bay. Her teeth sank deep into the rough cloth of his sealed bodysuit but didn't break through. She reared back, fire in her eyes, and tried again. Again, his suit held.

The beast was infuriated. It wielded her like a puppet, forming her twitching fingers into hooks that tried in vain to find purchase under the lip of her partner's helmet, tried to tear the bucket free and expose him to the sweet scent of death that surrounded them all.

Failure. Again.

She screamed and beat at him. His helmet's angular rangefinder snapped off with a shower of sparks and he grunted and dropped her to the ground, more out of surprise than anything else. Within seconds, his sleeping partner had transformed into a snarling beast. She leaped at him again and he caught her by the wrists, keeping her from getting at his helmet.

She heard his voice, but it was muffled like she was underwater and he was standing above the surface yelling down at her. It sounded like her name, _Jay_ , and something like _stop it_ and _listen to me_. She couldn't be sure. What she could be sure of was that his flesh, his _meat_ , was hiding just beneath that damned flight suit and if her teeth could puncture it, it would be hers _all hers and she could rip and rend and eat and eat and eat_ —

The first blaster shot tore through her shoulder from behind, wrenching her out of her partner's grasp. The force of the bolt's impact sent her reeling and she crashed forward onto all fours. Her shoulder quickly gave out and she sprawled to the ground, face-first in the blood and muck of the hellhole in which they were all trapped. Above the surface, Cin was shouting again. He sounded afraid now.

Still, the beast persisted. It pulled her arm up, made it reach for Vhetin's boot. Her fingers caught on the laces, hooking into them and pulling. It was still within her grasp. If she could just grab it, yank it forward and unbalance him—

The second blaster shot hit her in the back of her hand. It was her own will now that forced the scream from her lungs. It was her own pain she felt as the bolt tore through her palm and vaporized her two smallest fingers. In that moment, the fire racing through her vanished and the beast shrank back into shadow once more. The sudden disappearance left her feeling strangely empty inside.

Empty, alone, and _very_ frightened.

Pain became her world. She cradled her mangled hand to her chest and wailed as it consumed her. A rushing sound assaulted her ears and she suddenly broke free from the depths in which she had been sinking. She breached the surface and all the sights and sounds of the waking world assaulted her at once.

Cin was standing a few feet away, holding a stormtrooper by the throat and punching him repeatedly in the gut where his armor was weakest. The trooper held a still-smoking blaster in his hand. The plastoid of his armor was cracking beneath the force of his attacker's prodigious alien strength and he was sagging, limp, against the wall. Kalyn and Gattor both were shouting at Vhetin to stop, but they were difficult to hear over Jay's tortured screams.

But then a very different sound drowned out both.

 _Snap-hiss._

Jay's vision was tinged scarlet as a humming lightsaber blade descended and came to a halt only a hand's breadth from her throat. She looked up to see that towering colossus of black leather and polished obsidian armor as Darth Vader loomed above her.

"Release the trooper," the Dark Lord boomed, "or she dies."

Vhetin gladly dropped the trooper and rounded on the Imperial Supreme Commander, drawing his pike from its sling over his shoulder and igniting the blue blade with a sizzle of sparking plasma.

"Get away from her."

"Raise your weapon against me," Vader cautioned, "and she will suffer the consequences."

Vhetin didn't back down. In fact, he took a step closer. His entire body was quivering with rage. Vader's humming scarlet saber drifted closer to Jay's exposed throat. She could feel the heat radiating from the pulsating weapon, could see that scarlet glow even when she squeezed her eyes shut against its light.

"Lower your weapon or she dies. You have exactly five seconds to decide."

For a moment, she was sure Vhetin would ignore the warning. She saw his hands clench tight over the shaft of his pike. She saw the way his feet spread, preparing for a lunge that would carry him into battle. She saw Vader's stance shift as well, preparing to draw the lightsaber across her throat and end her pain once and for all.

It was Kalyn Farnmir, strangely, who saved both their lives. She threw herself between the Mandalorian and his would-be opponent, put both her hands on Vhetin's chest, and shoved him hard back against the wall. Hit with both force and surprise, he staggered away off balance and hit with a crash that seemed to knock the sense back into him. He froze for a half-second before finally lowering his saber and, with trembling fingers, hooking it back to its place on his back plate.

"All right," he said, holding both hands up in surrender. "All right, my weapon is gone. Just let her go."

Vader watched him for a moment more. Then, with a short wheeze from his respirator, he retracted the crimson saber and stepped away. Jay was left whimpering and bleeding, alone in the dark once more.

She wasn't alone long. Cin was instantly at her side again and helping her into a sitting position. She protested, feeling her body tense and the agony flare at his handling, but he didn't listen. She'd barely made it to a full sit-up when her gut lurched and she spewed a vile mixture of vomit and black glop over them both.

"Oh god…" she managed to choke out when breath returned to her lungs. "Oh god, Cin…"

"Shut up."

"I tried to—"

"Shut up," he repeated, his voice rock-hard. He pulled a vial of bacta spray from his belt and began tending to her hand. She looked down through streaming eyes and saw it was a mangled mess of blood and tissue. Her pinkie and ring fingers were completely gone, not even stumps left behind. Half her palm was gone too, and blood was pouring from the open wound.

"M-my hand," she said. Her voice sounded so very small. "My _hand_."

"It's fine," her partner growled. The bacta was running low; the canister was starting to stutter, spraying nothing but air. He slammed it hard against the ground and dislodged enough to work with. "It's fine."

" _It_ _'s not fine_!" she screamed at him. She yanked herself away, tears streaming down her cheeks. " _None of this_ is fine!"

She shoved her half-stump of hand in his faceplate. She gestured to the wounds on her neck and the thick, viscous soup of vomit and infection staining her jumpsuit. "Does any of this look like it's _fine_?!"

"It will be if—"

"If what? If you can save me?"

"It's what I'm trying to do!"

"You _can_ _'t_!" she shouted. "You might as well thank that trooper and tell him to finish the job!"

"Hey!" He grabbed her by the shoulders, his grip rough and unbreakable. She was forced to stare into that reflective T-slit visor she had come to know so well. "Listen to me. I am _not_ going to let you die here. So long as I'm still breathing, _you_ _'re_ still breathing too."

She broke down into exhausted sobs now. "I… I tried to—"

"No." His voice left no room for argument. "That wasn't you."

"But—"

"Jay," he interrupted, "I want you to repeat it. That wasn't you. Say it."

"I-it… it wasn't me."

 _It was you. All you._

"It wasn't me. It was the infection."

"I-it wasn't me. It was the infection."

 _You are the infection. We are one. Never to be parted._

His hands cupped her cheeks now. "Jay, look at me. I need you to look at me."

She didn't want to, but she forced herself to look into his faceplate again. He held her tearful stare.

"You die," he said, "when I say you can die. No sooner. That's an order."

She let out a weak scoff that quickly devolved into a coughing fit. "You think you're some big shot military man, giving me orders like that?"

"No. I'm your partner, your trainer, and your employer. And I'm ordering you to _stay alive_ until I tell you otherwise. You can die when I say you can die. No sooner. Understand?"

"Fuck you—"

" _Do you understand_?"

The beast was suddenly back, raging and roaring and so full of wrath it almost made her split at the seams. Her good hand balled into a fist and swung with all her might, an inhuman snarl tearing itself from her lips. She barely felt the pain as her fist hit the hard armor of his helmet. Such a strike should have left her yelping and cradling her hand. But the beast had dulled her senses and replaced them with its own. Now all she saw was food.

Vhetin recoiled and she — _it_ — used the distraction to its full advantage. Her legs came up, curling against her chest, and then shoved hard outward. Both soles caught the Mandalorian in the chest and sent him crashing onto his back.

She was on her feet in moments, eyes raking over the hall. Blood poured from her mangled hand and thick tendrils of drool from her lips. She saw more stormtroopers raising their weapons, saw Kalyn reaching a hand out to stop her, saw Vhetin throwing himself back to his feet with an agility she no longer found surprising.

Then her eyes fell on a side passage, a corridor leading away from them all. Into the depths of the station, into the dark. She took off, her feet flying with renewed strength as the infection pulled at her limbs like a master puppeteer. She vanished down the hall, the shadows opening up and enfolding her in their fondest embrace.

She descended into the darkness and was lost in it.

* * *

"Jay!"

Vhetin scrambled to his feet and shouted after her. When she didn't reemerge, he spun to face Darth Vader once more. He was standing, fists planted on his hips with a haughty air of superiority. The air of a man who had been proved right.

"She is lost," he said. "She belongs to the infection now."

His voice was desperate and he didn't care. "You have to let me go after her."

"Must I?"

"Yes! If she dies—"

"She is already dead," one of the Inquisitors, the quiet Urieth, said. His voice was soft and carried a surprising note of sympathy. "The infection works quickly."

"No. No, I don't believe that. If I can get her to the station's medical staff before it sets in completely—"

"Hope," Vader intoned, "is the domain of fools and martyrs."

"It's not hope!" Vhetin shouted. "It's…"

He didn't know exactly what it was. All he knew was that Jay was out there and she needed to come back before this place took her forever. He couldn't bear the thought of that happening.

Vader stared at him for a few long moments. The muggy, sluggish breeze kicked up by the barely-functioning ventilation systems tugged at his cloak and sent it rippling around his bulky frame. His broad chest swelled with a wheezing breath, then—

"Go."

"What?"

"Go," he said. "Find your companion. You will find no resistance from me. But neither will you find aid. If you choose this path, you will walk it alone."

"Fine," he instantly agreed. "Yes. I will."

"No." Another voice cut in. Kalyn's voice. "You won't."

She stepped closer and pressed a comlink into his hand. She held it there, squeezing his arm to drive her meaning home. "You find her," she said, "you call me. I'll come and get you two. Lead you to the medics."

He could not transform his gratitude into mere words. All he could manage was a single tense nod. It didn't seem to matter, as Kalyn smiled encouragingly behind her breath mask and patted his arm.

"Bring her home."

"I will."

He didn't wait for more permission. He turned and sprinted off into the dark after his partner. The hall yawned before him like the gaping maw of a great beast. Seeing it, he set his jaw and plunged forward, into its belly.

* * *

Sights and sounds flashed around her, pelting her from all directions. She caught glimpses of rust and blood coating old metal walls. She smelled blood and dust and the sticky must of old coolant fluid. She heard shuffling feet, snarling, and the snapping of teeth dull and rotted teeth.

The sensation of being plunged underwater had returned and she experienced all these things from the other side of a strange kind of veil. Sights were little more than shadows playing across the wall. Sounds were little more than distant, muffled murmurings. But she understood them all the same because something within her comprehended far better than she did. Something was using her senses, stealing them from her while she was nothing more than a prisoner trapped in her own skull.

Then, just like before, the thing stealing her body temporarily lost its hold and sensation broke over her like a crashing wave. She breached the surface and the world returned in a rush of noise and nauseating smells. Her vision widened into a bright flare of blinding light as if she had just emerged from a deep tunnel into the harsh illumination of day. And then she was herself again.

She was shambling along a hallway, back hunched, arms hanging limply at her sides. Her flight suit was smeared with blood and vomit and black glop. The revolting mess had gotten in her hair as well, which had been pulled loose from its ponytail in all the commotion of before. She must have been quite the sight: a disgusting and disheveled shell of a woman, hobbling along like a drunk after a three-day binge.

But she didn't hobble alone. She was surrounded by fellows: men and women and the rotting skeletons of men and women. They were all walking together, all with that same uncoordinated limping, all heading the same direction like a macabre parade of the damned. She saw hair falling out in clumps and flesh hanging from bones like loose cloth. She saw some walkers with arms missing, some with huge chunks blown from their bodies by blaster fire. One even waddled along with no head, feeling its way blindly through this cold land of nightmares urged on by the whims of its unseen master.

The infected paid her no mind. Why would they? She was part of the family now. Part of the group. Part of the pack.

The thought quickly transformed into a scream and she broke free of her shambling gait. She turned and limped away as fast as her wounded leg could allow, shoving away any who stood in her path and cutting them down with her lightsaber when they grew too difficult to shove. The humming amethyst blade carved the dead into pieces, sending them thudding to the floor and clearing her path. Those with the capacity continued their lifeless march, crawling hand-over-hand down the hall with the rest. She didn't stop to question where they were all going, didn't care where this procession ended. Only evil lay in that direction.

Instead, she ran. She didn't care where her feet carried her, so long as it was away from this horrible place and those horrible creatures. She needed to find some place quiet, some place where she could stop and think and push back the monster crawling through her skull.

 _I tried to kill him_ , she thought. _I tried to kill my own partner. My friend._

She was so far gone now, she didn't even feel bad for it. She mirrored the beast's rage at her failure. The pain that still consumed her blasted-apart hand only stoked its rage: its plaything had been damaged and it hadn't even managed to kill anyone yet.

She staggered against the wall, leaving behind a long smear of blood and vomit as she dragged herself along it.

 _Never should have come here_ , that sane part of her mind whispered to her. _Should have listened to Denton. Should have stayed far away from Cin Vhetin and his problems._

 _This is what happens_ , another voice hissed, _when you put your friends before yourself. This is what happens when you stick your nose in his business._

 _It should be HIM in this position, not us. All this is his fault anyway. But he_ _'s immune, isn't he? Lucky him._

 _He probably wanted this to happen. Probably arranged for this to happen so he could be rid of you, once and for all. He never wanted you, never will want you. You_ _'re not a Mandalorian, not a mercenary. You're just a frightened little girl who wandered too far from home._

Her fingers — those that were left — clenched into claws and buried themselves into her temples as she did her best to dig the thoughts out. It failed. As much as she tried to resist the flood of whispers that assaulted her, they just continued growing stronger and stronger.

 _Why would he care about you? Why would he ever want you? You deserve this. You_ _'re going to die here. You're going to die here and no one will be there to save you or soothe you or hold your hand as you breathe your last—_

A great rumbling growl echoed through her mind like the world-shattering horn of a fogbound freighter as the beast loomed large once more. Once more she was caught in the full power of its gaze and she shrank before it like a gizka before a nexu.

 _There is only one truth_ , it said to her. _All things die. As you are, so once were we. And as we now are, so shall you be._

"No." She screwed up her face, teeth clenched so hard her jaw hurt. That was good; if her jaw was shut the beast couldn't use it to bite. "No, you're _lying_!"

 _All things die_ , it repeated. _Planets explode. Suns burn out. Entire galaxies waste away into the darkness. Birds fall from the skies, fish float limp to the midnight depths of the oceans, and forests waste away into dust. In time, even the Force shall cease its endless struggle of light versus dark. Of all things, only death is eternal._

"You're lying!" she screamed at the empty hallway ahead of her. "You're lying!"

 _What do you hope to achieve through your defiance? You cannot escape death. You can only postpone it. Delay the inevitable. Far simpler to just_ _… give in. Lay down your head and join the procession of the dead. Slumber and know that when you awake, you will be as eternal as I._

"Wh-what are you?"

 _I am that which lurks in the darkness between stars. I am that which waits for you at the end of all things. I am the monster under your bed and the beast in your heart. I am your hunger, Jaciea Elmerie Naer-Kolta._

"Stop talking in riddles!" she shouted. The effort drained her and she fell against the wall again. Her mangled palm left a smeared half-handprint as she pushed off and continued her staggering path down the hallway, deeper into darkness. "Give me a straight answer!"

 _Simply, then?_ The beast swelled and circled around her like a black mist only she could see. _You may call me Mnggal._

"Mnggal," she repeated through thick and rebellious lips, stumbling over the pronunciation as surely as she stumbled over her feat. Strength fled her limbs and she collapsed onto her hands and knees. "Mnggal."

It rose up in the darkness now: a formless mass of ever-shifting black fluid that twisted and roiled and billowed as if fed by the shadows themselves. It slithered through the dark with a graceful serpentine motion, rising up and bobbing in the air as tendrils of purest midnight reached for her, beckoned to her.

 _You are tired, Jay. Rest. Recover. You have all the time in the world now._

It drew closer, closer. The dim and flickering light danced across its viscous, reflective surface, making its deepest depths sparkle like distantly twinkling stars. It was both beautiful and horrific all at once and she both was both terrified and fascinated by the scintillating forms that played across its shimmering surface. Her instincts, however, screamed at her to flee from this monstrosity before it consumed her, body and soul. She tried to rise up to her feet again but failed. She tried to crawl on her hands and knees, but the motion sent fire up her wounded arm and she wobbled dangerously, threatening to collapse into the dust.

 _Lay down your weary head, child_ , the beast whispered. The grasping tendrils morphed, melded, and formed into a single open hand. _You have nothing to be afraid of anymore._

It was all a ploy, she knew; a trick to get her to lower her defenses and let the beast reign once and for all. As soon as she reached out to take that spectral hand, as soon as she gave in, she would be truly lost. She could not fall prey to this monster. She had to _fight_.

Unfortunately, the best she could do was raise her limp arm and thumb the activation switch of her lightsaber.

It was enough; with a crackling ignition, the glowing bar of violet light sprang to life and speared the phantom mass through the chest. The apparition didn't recoil or shout in pain; rather, it simply melted away into a sea of viscous black soup that drained away into the darkness.

The beast retreated. She was alone once more.

Long ago, when she had been a girl growing up in the rural farmlands of Corellia, one of her neighbors had kept a herd of poggalos. These were dumb beasts, big and brutish and covered in coarse blackish-brown hair that hung down and covered flat and lifeless eyes. They were docile creatures, easily shepherded to whatever pasture was opened to them and even more easily sheared for their wool and butchered for their meat.

One day, one of these dumb poggalos had stepped a little too close to the edge of a tall drop, maybe twenty or thirty feet. The subsequent fall had broken three of its legs and shattered its spine. A mortal wound.

Little Jay and a small cadre of others had gone to investigate all the commotion and found the poggalo at the bottom of the cliff, lying on its side and bellowing in agony. She remembered it well: a painfully pitiful creature, pawing at the dirt with one hoof while its blood soaked into the ground. Most of the others didn't care much for the creature's pain. It was only a dumb poggalo, after all. But Jay had felt for the creature, lying broken in the dust and able to comprehend nothing but its own pain.

Jay felt like that fallen poggalo now: weak and unable to free herself from the cage of fear and anguish that had closed around her. And like the poggalo, it was quickly becoming clear that the only thing to free her from this terrible prison would be a single well-placed blaster bolt to the head.

But when that happened, it would still be her pawing helplessly in the dirt, not this beast that was trying to consume her from within. It would be _her_ blood that would soak these rusty floor panels. It would be _her_ body that would fall to the ground and never rise again.

The beast was not so easily defeated. It swelled up within her, enraged by her defiance, and roared like a rabid rancor.

 _RESIST_ , it bellowed. _RESIST AND REBEL AND USE ALL YOUR STRENGTH TO KEEP ME AWAY. I WILL STILL REMAIN. ALL THINGS DIE, AND YOU ARE NO EXCEPTION. YOU BELONG TO ME._

The whispers started again as if startled into life by the beast's rage.

 _Kill, kill, kill_

 _So hungry_

 _You can_ _'t stop it. You can't keep it out. You can't run from it forever._

 _Hide. You have to hide._

 _Eat and eat and eat and eat and—_

 _You know there_ _'s only one way out of this._

She looked down at her trembling hand, still holding the lit lightsaber. She watched the blade dance in the air, humming as her grip wavered. It would be so easy to pull the saber around. Pull it around and turn that beautiful amethyst light upon herself. End it all before the beast took it all away…

 _Do it_ , the whispers told her. _It_ _'s the only way. The only way to be free of him._

 _Eat and eat and eat and—_

 _There_ _'s no escaping the infection. No hiding from what's already inside you._

 _— inside you. He_ _'ll find you wherever you are. Find you and force you to kill and kill again._

 _Look at what you almost did to Cin. You can_ _'t let that happen again._

The blade rotated, coming around to face her now. Its synthetic hum drowned out the voices, the light growing brighter and brighter, consuming her whole world until—

It blinked out with a rasp of deactivating plasma. The hilt smoked in her hand, tendrils of discharge wafting up into the air and mingling with the dancing dust motes. Her thumb still pressed down on the activation stud, where it had quite literally saved her life. She stared at the metallic cylinder with wide eyes, then let out a wheezing, choking exhalation.

She couldn't do it.

She went limp, her saber clattering to the ground next to her. Her head thudded hard against the wall. The sound echoed down the empty corridor, into darkness. She sat there, alone and broken, for a long time. It was almost… peaceful.

Then the beast began screaming. And she screamed with it.

* * *

As a bounty hunter, finding people was Vhetin's specialty. But never before had tracking down a target felt so harrowing. Never before had his heart pounded so wildly as he pursued his quarry. Never before had the stakes been so very, very high.

His HUD's scanning overlays picked up Jay's trail quickly enough. Smears of blood and vomit marked her path through the station, away from the expeditionary force heading for the medical wing. He followed as quickly as his scanners would allow; he could not afford to make a mistake and follow the wrong path. He had to be careful and sure, though he knew time was running out.

 _Hang in there, Jay_ , he thought. _I_ _'m not leaving you here._

His path led him through maintenance bays and conference rooms and barracks, all deserted and filled with the residue of decay. He passed by mounds of corpses and scanned them all, praying all the while that none would return a positive identification. His motion tracker showed infected in the area, but they seemed occupied with other prey at the time. He was never one to look a gift reek in the mouth, so he moved on without paying them further mind.

He was beginning to doubt he was on the correct path when his helmet system's picked up something. It was so slight that his auditory receptors were barely able to pick it up; they strained to isolate this strange anomaly. He crept down the hallway, both gauntlet blades ejected and held at the ready, prepared to sink them into whatever leaped from the shadows to attack him. He drew closer and closer, careful to let his boots fall quietly on the hard durasteel floor. As he approached the source of the noise, his helmet systems finally identified the noise.

It was a woman. A woman crying.

He rounded a corner and saw a storage locker just ahead. The noises were coming from inside. He retracted his arm-mounted blades and drew closer, hands outstretched as if to placate a snarling dog.

"Jay?"

The crying didn't stop, but it did die back a little. There was a sniff, then a voice — muffled by the locker door and echoing from within its confines — whimpered, "Go away."

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"I don't care. Go away."

"I'm not going to do that. I'm here to bring you back."

An echoing, watery chuckle from inside the locker. "To what? A cure?"

"Yes."

"You really think that's going to work? After all you've seen me do?"

"I have to." He paused by the locker, one hand resting against its surface. No doubt about it now; she was hiding inside. "I can't think otherwise."

A groan from within. "There's no point. I… I don't know how much of me is left to save."

"We can fix your hand—"

"I'm not talking about my hand." His partner's voice, weak as it was, carried a harsh note of venom. "I'm talking about… about _me_. All of me."

He didn't press her further. She sniffed a few more times before whispering, "It's _inside_ me, Cin. This sickness, this rot. Mnggal, it calls itself. It's whispering in my head, twisting and turning like a nest of snakes. I can feel it getting stronger. And if you rip it away… how much of me is going to be ripped out with it?"

He slowly sank to the ground next to the locker, easing himself into a sitting position. "It… doesn't work like that. They'll give you an injection. They're not going to rip away anything."

"You don't… you don't understand." The tears were threatening to take over again. "You saw what I've become. You saw what it makes me do. How can a syringe make that stop?"

"It just will. I know it will." He listened to her quiet whimpering, then rapped his knuckles gently against the locker door. "Can you open up?"

"I… I don't know if I want to."

"Why not?"

"I don't… don't want you to see me. Not like this."

"Jay…"

"I'm becoming a monster. Piece by piece, it's turning me. Twisting me into something I'm not. Eating me away from the inside out."

He had no response to that. He linked his arms over his knees and waited for her to continue. She didn't. They just sat there, together in the dark, listening as her strangled sobs faded away into the thick, fog-like shadows.

"Can I tell you a story?"

Jay snorted, then coughed terribly for a few long moments. When it cleared, she gasped, "Is now really the time?"

He shrugged. "Might be the only time, if you're right about all this."

An exhausted sigh and a thump from inside the locker; she had probably leaned her head against the door. "Fine. Go ahead."

"Years ago," he began, "when I was still in training, Rame set me up with this old veteran drill master. She was a martial arts expert and a former forward assault trooper with the Supercommandos. I wasn't very good at fighting at the time, and this woman took it as almost a personal insult. So she was going to teach me to fight like her, even if it killed the both of us in the process. Every day I would get in the sparring ring and she'd beat the living shit out of me. She would yell at me, _scream_ at me to stand up and keep fighting, even when I begged her to stop or go easier on me. She refused every time."

He rested against the bulkhead behind him, calling the memories back with a rueful shake of his head. "I was _terrified_ of that woman."

A soft sniff from inside the locker. "Really?"

"Really. I was terrified every day at the prospect of getting in that ring with her. I was afraid I'd lock up and forget my footwork and she'd see it and berate me. Afraid I'd miss a punch and she'd break my arm. I went to Rame and begged him to change instructors. He refused."

Silence for a moment. Vhetin smiled a bit and continued, "He put his boot in my back and shoved me into the ring himself. And I got my ass kicked until I didn't think I had any ass left. Later, I went to Rame and demanded to know why he'd pushed me. Why I had to keep training with this awful woman who was clearly enjoying her beatings. He told me it was an important lesson, if taught inelegantly. _A Mandalorian_ _'s first enemy is fear_ , he told me. _You_ _'re afraid of your trainer. Stay on your feet despite that and you conquer your fear. Conquer your fear, and you can conquer anything._ "

He let out a short derisive snort. "I didn't believe him. I thought he was being cruel. But I went back to the ring again and again until I couldn't do it anymore. I just couldn't take it. So I stopped outside the sparring circle one day and refused to go back in. My trainer insisted. I insisted otherwise. She punched me in the gut and knocked the wind out of me. I got back up and told her to kriff off. She hit me in the head next. I got back up."

He glanced at the locker. "I'm sure you can imagine how things proceeded from there."

Jay sighed, the sound echoing inside her sealed shelter. "Does this story have a point?"

"It does. My trainer beat me to a pulp that day, but I didn't set foot inside that damn ring. The whole time, I kept thinking, _stay on your feet. Stay on your feet_. Eventually she gave up and canceled training, while I was lying half-conscious on the ground at her feet. But I hadn't set so much as a toe inside that ring."

He smiled at the memory. "Later, Rame congratulated me on conquering my fear. I asked him what he meant and he said, _You reached a point where you were able to ignore your fear of your teacher and stand up for yourself. In that moment you defended yourself better than any martial artist could._

"The next day, my trainer called off our sparring. Said I'd done a good job defending myself and had earned a rest." He looked over at the box-like locker next to him. "You want to know who that trainer was?"

A sniff. "Who?"

"Janada Bralor."

No response from inside the locker.

"You're in the same position now, Jay. You're fighting your own demon, and you have the same choice I did: succumb to your fear and step into its territory where you'll be at its mercy, or stay on your feet, stand up for yourself, and refuse to bow. Trust your instincts; they won't lead you astray."

"My instincts told me to kill you," she whimpered. "My _instincts_ made me try and rip your throat out with my teeth."

"That wasn't you. That was the infection."

Another weary sigh from his partner. "How long before they're one and the same?"

"You're sitting here talking to me. I'd say we're not there yet."

A weary huff from his partner. "You're wasting your time."

"You're not the first to tell me that."

"You're also an idiot." Her voice was growing weaker with every word.

He snorted. "You're not the first to tell me that either. Do you think you can open up now?"

"I don't know. I…"

She trailed off for a long time. When she spoke again, her small voice quivered with every word.

"You won't leave me?"

His response was instantaneous. "Never."

A rustling from inside the locker. A groan from his partner and a dull clank as the lock snapped open. The door swung wide and Jay spilled forward onto the floor, unable to hold herself up. She reached out a hand for him and he took it.

"That's better," he said. He gathered her up, pulling her into a sitting position supported against his chest. "C'mere. I've got you."

Her breathing was shallow, her skin so pale it seemed to glow in the dim light. Black veins pulsed and crawled up her face like spiderwebs, framing eyes that were so sunken and black, it almost looked like she didn't have eyes at all. Emerging from her hiding place must have used the last of her strength; she was still alive, but unconscious. Her heart was racing, too fast to be natural. She wouldn't last much longer.

"I've got you," he said again, shifting back to sit against the wall. He triggered his helmet's comm and dialed Kalyn's number. When the huntress picked up after the first dialing tone, he grunted, "I've got her. Trace my transponder and you'll find us. Make it fast."

Once the channel was closed, he sighed and looked down at his dying partner. Only a little longer now and everything would be back to normal. She would pull through. She had to. There was no other alternative he dared to imagine.

Pulling her closer, he rested his helmet forehead against hers, closed his eyes, and prayed to whatever forgotten god who would listen that it wasn't already too late.


	11. Life, Death, and In-Between

**Blackwing Station Medical Wing**

"Make way! Make way!"

The blood and filth-stained doctors raced down the hall, pushing Jay's repulsor bed as quickly as they could manage. The crowd of refugees parted before them, many whispering and pointing at the newcomers. Vhetin followed close behind, always keeping a careful eye on his partner's vitals. They'd come too far to lose her here, and her heart rate was spiking in ways he didn't like. Kalyn was right behind him, a worried frown cemented across her features.

"Is she going to be all right?" the huntress inquired. As if in response, Jay twisted on her bed and coughed up a spray of black slime that spattered the transparisteel surface of the quarantine pod in which she had been placed. She hadn't regained consciousness since Vhetin had found her, and it was clear her condition was growing worse by the minute. Her skin was an ashy gray, her veins sickly and black beneath her skin. She looked barely more alive than the creatures that prowled the halls, and that comparison made Vhetin's heart stick uncomfortably in his throat.

One of the doctors pointed the convoy down a side passage. "She needs immediate immunization. Administering it this late…the shock alone could kill her if the infection doesn't do it first."

They reached an operating theater, home only to exhausted survivors now. The med-techs in the lead shooed the men and women away before a curious crowd could form around the repulsor bed. The civilians quickly departed, waiting at the threshold and craning their necks to get a better look. Vhetin took a step closer to the bed, eyes never leaving the limp form of his partner. He didn't make it far before the senior doctor stepped in front of him and held up a hand, preventing him from moving further.

"Medical personnel only past this point. We need to prep her for treatment immediately. We'll inform you if there are any changes."

The Mandalorian scowled behind his helmet but didn't object. "Just do whatever you can. No half-measures, understand?"

"Come on." Kalyn gestured for them to fall back with the crowd of civvies waiting outside. He reluctantly followed behind her. "She's in good hands. Who better to cure her of this kriffing plague than the freaks who made it?"

The doctor scowled at that, but quickly pulled the operating room shut and set to work. Vhetin watched them go for a moment, then turned with an exhausted sigh. He ignored the curious stares of the medical personnel around him, instead clenching his hands into tight, shaking fists as he stalked away.

He'd been surprised when they had reached the medical bay and found so many survivors. There had to be over a hundred, all huddled together under the watchful gaze of the surviving stormtrooper guard. They had managed to barricade all entrances to this small section of the station, holding out against the infected with little more than their wits and a few _very_ solid doors.

But now, it looked like the promise of safe haven didn't matter. Jay was dying, it was clear to everyone. No blast doors or stormtroopers would protect her from the poison in her blood.

"She's a mess," he hissed. "If they can't save her…"

"Leave speculation to the folks who get paid for it," Kalyn said, quoting an old bounty hunter proverb. "We work in the here and now."

When he didn't appear comforted by the notion, she hesitated and put a hand on his shoulder. He stopped, but didn't turn. His hands were still clenched tight.

"Hey." Kalyn's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "I know you're worried. I… I saw how you were holding her. When I found you?"

He let out a low a low grunt. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe. I may not be a Mando, but I do know some of your people's customs. Enough to know a _kov'nyn_ when I see one."

He was silent.

"Look, you've done everything you can. Only the docs and their concoctions can help her now." She squeezed his shoulder. "Just focus on surviving the next few hours so when she wakes up, you're the first person she sees."

Vhetin pointedly shrugged her hand away and moved out of her reach. Kalyn looked like she wanted to say more, but a voice interrupted her and startled them both.

"Your friend is strong. She will not leave this world without a fight."

The hunters turned to find a pale figure standing not far from them, watching them both with sharp, bloodshot eyes. His hairless head was bowed, his long-fingered hands folded into a steeple before him. His gaunt face seemed like all sharp edges, as if chiseled with jarring cuts from some ancient stone, and a dark power smoldered in his gaze like barely-contained fire.

"Inquisitor Urieth," Vhetin said with a frown. "What do you want?"

The Inquisitor moved toward the door separating them from the operating theater, his robes flowing over the floor in such a way that he didn't appear to be walking but rather gracefully floating through the air. Nearby refugees moved quickly to avoid the man, shrinking away or leaving the hall entirely to seek safer hideouts. Urieth paid them no mind, drifting past with little more than a glance in their direction. He instead approached the operating theater door and peered through the transparisteel observation window, narrowing his yellowed eyes as he watched the doctors at work within.

"I hope," he murmured, "she does not die. For all our sakes."

Vhetin exchanged a confused glance with Kalyn. Inquisitor Urieth hadn't been much of a talker so far. Now that he was breaking his own rule, he seemed to be speaking to himself more than to his audience. The Mandalorian took a step closer to the Imperial and said, "What do you mean?"

"The source of all this blood and death," Urieth said, as if that explained everything. "The puppet master making all the corpses dance. She has seen its true face. That gives her an advantage the rest of us do not have."

He turned back to them and once again folded his hands. "We still do not know the extent of this infection's power. We do not know why the infected act the way they do, why they hunt the way they do, and why Lord Vader is convinced a greater power is at work here."

He slid toward the hunters, fixing them both with that sunken stare. Vhetin felt his skin crawl at the sight of the man's unnaturally pale, hairless skin and his dark eye sockets. He reminded the hunter of a freshly-exhumed corpse bared to the light, and he'd seen far too many of those in the past few hours already.

The Inquisitor cocked his head, turning that imposing stare on Vhetin. "Did your partner say anything about this infection before she passed into unconsciousness? Anything that might be of use?"

"I can't be sure. She was pretty delirious at the end, and it wasn't all clear. She believed something was inside her, eating her away from within. Like there was some kind of demon trying to possess her."

"The entity," Kalyn said, rubbing her chin. "The one Vader sensed."

"It seems to have marked your partner for consumption," Urieth said. "Her will must be strong indeed to resist it for so long."

"You have no idea."

"You clearly have some theory," Kalyn said, narrowing her eyes at the Inquisitor. "What are you thinking?"

Urieth fidgeted a little; the first sign of discomfort he'd shown since Vhetin had met him. He drifted past them, almost circling the two hunters like a predator debating whether to strike at helpless prey. Kalyn pivoted on one heel, always keeping the Inquisitor in view while Vhetin watched the pale man through his helmet's 360-degree vision.

"Lord Vader is not the only one with… reservations about this station. My compatriot, Abbadon, believes these infected to be nothing but bloodthirsty beasts. But I have also sensed the presence that haunts these halls." His lips pursed, pressed into a thin white line. "It is clear this entity is incredibly powerful, and we must use every strategic advantage to defeat it. It has strength, time, and the force of numbers, while our only weapon is knowledge."

He came to a halt before them, once again folding his hands with a slow, pensive calm. "So I ask again: has your injured partner said anything we can use to better know our enemy?"

Vhetin glanced at Kalyn, who shrugged and rolled her eyes. The Mandalorian frowned, but slowly said, "I'm not sure. She… said a lot of things before she lost consciousness. Almost none of it made sense."

"Search yourself," Urieth pressed. "Was there anything that stood out?"

"Maybe. She said… something, but I thought she was just coughing or wheezing rather than talking. She said the infection, the sickness, calls itself Mnggal."

"Mnggal?" Urieth echoed. He stroked his chin with a single long finger. "Interesting…"

"That name mean anything to you?" Kalyn asked.

"Perhaps, though such a name is spoken only in hushed voices on the fringes of colonized space."

"Poetic," Vhetin said. "But you're not answering the question."

"Nor must I," Urieth said. He set his jaw and gestured for them to follow. "Come. We must report this to Lord Vader. He is assembling our allies to plan our next foray into the station."

He set off, barely seeming to care whether they actually followed. Vhetin shared an uneasy glance with Kalyn, then the two hunters set off after the gaunt figure. The refugees parted like water before them, shuffling out of the way while pointing to the odd group and murmuring behind their hands.

"What's the current status?" Vhetin asked, falling into step next to the Inquisitor. Kalyn flanked the tall man's other side. "How close are we to evacuating the station?"

"Too far to comfortably believe evacuation possible. The infected still hold considerable ground that stands between us and any valid evacuation point. If we are to escape this station, we will have to fight our way out."

"Do we have the manpower for a prolonged assault?"

"Barely. We now have the combined forces of our own troops and those soldiers responsible for guarding the medical wing. It is an advantage, but not a large one. That said…"

His hesitation was not lost on the hunters following him. Kalyn cocked her head and said, "What? What's wrong?"

"Lord Vader has suggested an… alternative approach. He wishes to use our forces to cleanse the station for good."

"For good? He means to go on the offensive?"

"Not as such. I will let the Supreme Commander speak for himself when we arrive."

It didn't take long to find Vader. One could tell when he was near just by seeing the impact his presence had on the locals. Refugees huddled closer, casting fearful glances over their shoulders while soldiers and medical personnel leaped to their duties with unnatural fervor, wary of catching the Dark Lord's attention. And more than that, the very atmosphere of the station seemed to change. The air grew tight and charged with energy, and Vhetin found himself fidgeting and sweating uncomfortably the closer they grew.

They found him in a briefing room, towering over a holomonitor displaying a layout of the station. Certain areas were blocked off and glowing red, while others were green or yellow. Sergeant Rigel was typing furiously into the input, no doubt charting a course from their current location through the hordes of infected standing between them and a safe exit. Inquisitor Abbadon was, as usual, hovering at his master's shoulder and studying the holo with narrowed yellow eyes. Also present were several of the medical staff, including a familiar bearded man attended by a tall blonde woman Vhetin instantly realized.

In all honesty, he'd been certain he would never see Doctor Kenneth Torch again after the man had assisted him in his escape from Whiteclaw's original research base, known only as The Facility. The doctor and his nurse had been two of the only sympathetic figures in the project and had always been kind to him during his period of incarceration. Seeing them both here now was a surprise he hadn't been expecting.

Doctor Torch looked over at the sound of the door screeching open and did a small double-take at the sight of him as well. Vhetin wasn't surprised; the man had never seen him in his full armor and it was no doubt an intimidating sight, splattered as it was with blood, vomit, and various types of gore and grime. Vhetin nodded to the man in greeting, almost imperceptibly, as he followed Kalyn deeper into the room. Torch returned the nod, while Monro gave him a small, tight-lipped smile.

"We'll need to punch through the engineering deck with sheer force," Sergeant Rigel was saying. "We're going to lose a lot of people in the process. There's no way around it."

"Sacrifices must be made," Inquisitor Abbadon murmured. "Our forces will be proud to make them."

"I'm sure," Rigel muttered, but continued typing. "Once the engineering deck is secured, we can set the station's power reactor to undergo a system purge. It's normally used to clear the interior of the reactor with a blast of intense heat that vaporizes carbon buildup and other debris."

"How can that help cleanse the station?" inquired Urieth, gliding into place on Vader's other side.

Rigel held up a finger. "If we jury rig the system to retract the reactor's containment shields, the heat buildup will grow to wildly unstable levels. It'll send all that heat buildup out through the open deck instead of being reflected back in on itself."

The hologram began to glow red, starting in the reactor core and spreading through the branching halls of the station. The scarlet light flowed like water through the maze-like corridors and passages until the entire station glowed with pulsing crimson.

"Simply put: it will send a firestorm through the station," Rigel explained, "reducing everything organic to ash. But so long as we manage to lock down our safe zones beforehand and keep the blast doors sealed, we can ride it out in relative safety. Once done, our path to the hangar bay will be clear and we can call in an evacuation."

"That's preposterous!" one of the medical personnel said. "We have no way of knowing if there are other survivors!"

"A reactor purge could also overload," Dr. Torch added softly. "The ensuing explosion would rip the station in half and suck us all out into the vacuum."

"The only other alternative is to sweep the station deck by deck," Rigel pointed out. "Search and destroy tactics. And we barely survived a single expedition to find _you_ guys."

"A prolonged offensive against the infected," Vader intoned, "would be foolish. It is almost certain death for all involved."

"I agree," Vhetin chipped in. He folded his arms as the others looked to him; as a battle-hardened Mandalorian, his words carried some weight even here. "Given how hostile the infected were towards us, the chances of us encountering other pockets of survivors is low. Purging the station is the only solution that sees any of us make it out alive."

"But—"

"This conversation is pointless," Vader boomed. "You will obey your orders, doctor, or you will face the consequences of insubordination."

The unhappy med-tech quickly fell silent. Vader stared at him for a few long moments before turning to the rest of the assembled personnel. He rested his fists on his hips and took a hollow, echoing breath.

"We face an enemy today unlike any the Empire has seen," he said. "It is our responsibility to ensure this infection is not unleashed upon Imperial worlds. We _must_ purge the station to safely evacuate, and I expect you all to be willing to sacrifice your lives in service to this goal."

His masked gaze fell on each of them individually. "Earn the privilege of your escape. You are dismissed."

As the group began to depart, most of those present all too eager to escape from Vader's presence, Urieth beckoned Vhetin and Kalyn closer to the Dark Lord. Once they were alone in the room, Urieth bowed before his master and said, "My lord, we have information that may be of interest to you."

"Proceed."

Vhetin fidgeted beneath Vader's bottomless gaze before he slowly began, "My partner… after she was attacked, she claims to have started hallucinating. She said there was something inside the sickness. An intelligence that uses the infection to spread its consciousness. She called it Mnggal."

"I have sensed as much," Vader said. He linked his hands over his belt and rasped out a long exhalation. "Though the name of the entity is… interesting…"

"You know something?"

"The Chiss have spoken of such a creature. The Ascendancy has explored more of the Unknown Regions than any other race, and have encountered things uncharted by even Imperial records."

"And what do they say about it?"

"That it is a being older than time," Vader said. "A malevolent intelligence that conquers and consumes all it touches. Some believe it to be a dark offshoot of Sith alchemical experiments. Others revere it as a god."

"A god," Kalyn echoed skeptically. "And you idiots heard that and thought, _Kriff, let's find a way to experiment on it_?"

"This is a new development," Vader said. "One unforeseen even by me. Only the Emperor knows all the details of this operation. If you would prefer to level such concerns with him, it can be arranged."

Kalyn paled a few shades. "Uh, no. No, I'm good."

Vader paced a few steps, arms folded across his chest. "No doubt my master seeks to learn the secrets of this being's immortality. But it would seem Mnggal has other plans."

"Do you think it knows about Project Blackwing?"

"I am not certain it would care even if it did. One must only look so far as the infected to see that this intelligence cares only for its baser instincts: to hunt, to devour, and to spread its influence as far as it can be spread. No doubt its only concern now is to infect everyone aboard this station, then to escape to more fertile hunting grounds."

The Dark Lord stared the two hunters down. "I need not explain how detrimental such a victory would be."

Vhetin was already picturing it: entire worlds laid to waste, their populations turned into ravenous, flesh-hungry monsters. The Empire would no doubt throw endless waves of soldiers into battle against it, only to be decimated time and again as troops were added to the masses of the dead. With such power at its disposal, Mnggal could sweep across the galaxy with ease, leaving nothing but ruin in its wake.

"You said," he murmured, "that the Chiss know about it. They must have run into it before. How did they survive?"

"That is information I do not have."

"But it has to have some weakness," Kalyn pressed. "Or else it would have killed us all eons ago."

"If it is indeed this Mnggal entity we face," Vader intoned, "then yes. It has been beaten back before, driven to the depths of uncharted space. It is not invincible. I intend to remind it of this."

With that, he swept away and stalked out the door with his faithful Inquisitors in tow, leaving the two remaining hunters to share an uneasy glance.

* * *

She swam through a sea of darkness, breaching the surface for only moments to glimpse flashes of the world to which she had once belonged. She saw disjointed, chaotic images of dirty walls, of scared men and women huddling in corners, and white stormtrooper armor marred with grime and blood. She saw hazy faces pass through her narrowed field of vision and she saw shadows churning and warping like living things.

She had enough conscious will left to wonder what had happened to her. Was she dying? Was she already dead? Did it even matter anymore?

The voice of the Sickness was mercifully silent. She could still sense its presence, lurking like a great dark shadow of the void. No, not a shadow, for darkness was simply the absence of light. This was something huge and solid and _real_ , a great dark thing standing between her and the light of freedom, something that wasn't an absence but an _addition_.

She felt its interest peak as it was brought near to fresh, beating hearts. It tried to make her rise, to make her leap at these hazy figures like a rabid animal. To bite and claw and spread its foul diseased presence to their souls just as surely as it had infected hers. But she no longer had the strength to obey its commands, especially when she saw the masked visage of a medical technician come into her watery, wavering vision. Something was fitted over her mouth and nose. There was a hissing, and the world went black. She plunged beneath the waves, back into that dreamlike world that was at once familiar and wholly alien. _Its_ world. _Its_ kingdom.

It rose again now, not with malice or rage, but with a cold kind of curiosity. It loomed up beneath her, enveloping her in tendrils of shadow and drawing her closer, deeper into its fold.

 _Do you fear death?_

Its words were not words, not really, but instead a whisper of a shiver down her spine, sinking into her soul as soft and intimate as that of a lover but carrying a festering, almost putrid intonation. She recoiled in fear and disgust, trying her best to draw her faltering consciousness away from the being that now held her enthralled. It wrapped around her with those caressing tendrils and pulled her closer than before. Her reaction had told it more than words could.

It told her she had nothing to fear. That the dead felt no fear or pain or sorrow. Only an endless, gnawing hunger, stronger even than the grasp of the Force. The desire to consume others, to take them unto oneself and drag them into the abyss to share in the delights of eternity.

She blinked and suddenly found the dreaming depths twinkling with stars. She drifted through them, descending deeper and deeper into the void. The twinkling pinpoints drifted lazily past and she reached with numb fingers to touch them, but found them always beyond her reach. The darkness between the stars seemed so much more solid, seemed to press in around her, soft and suffocating, until she wanted to claw at her throat and scream. She did neither.

She fell like this for only moments, for forever, until she saw an object in the fathomless distance. A blot between the stars, brighter and _harder_ than the blackness of the void. A stain on infinity, made of metal and sparks and screams. She at once perceived its form: it was Blackwing Station — the great terraced, oblong coffin in which they were all trapped. Lights flickered all along its surface, twinkling not unlike the stars around them. But this light was different. It was a cold light. A dead light, like the shine of a corpse's eyes.

Mnggal was in her head again, whispering that the station was a dead end, nothing but a grave of cold steel and endless corridors. A place of blood and nightmares, kept alive only by the wails of the dead and the dying. She wanted nothing more in the galaxy than to leave, and the Sickness could sense it. It drew closer, smothering her with its enormity. It pressed on and around and _into_ her, until she could scarcely tell where she ended and it began. It cooed and caressed her, like a mother with its child.

 _A dead child_ , she found herself thinking. _That's all I am. A dead child with sightless eyes and a belly swollen with stolen flesh. A lifeless husk, a dead puppet for a dead god._

She could sense Mnggal's displeasure, its flailing, impotent irritation at being confined to the maze-like halls of this station, isolated within the vacuum of space. She could tell that it yearned for new horizons, that it had enjoyed its time playing its part as god of death and destruction but now, like all gods, had grown tired of this game and its playthings.

It wanted _more_.

She felt it turn its attention beyond the haunted halls of the station. She herself traced its gaze, felt legions of fellow infected follow suit with her, to the stars beyond the steel. Together, they all peered out across the cosmos, to the lights that glittered and danced across the glittering plane of the known galaxy. Together, this undead legion poured out into this darkened sea, one great mass exodus descending upon an unsuspecting galaxy. And together, they witnessed the dreams of their unseen master.

She saw planets in ruin, some still burning while others were so cold and lifeless that the flames of destruction were only a fading memory. She saw forests whithered away to nothing but endless masses of craggy, skeletal graveyards as the twisted remains of trees reached their gnarled fingers toward the unfeeling, uncaring stars. She saw proud statues of heroes long forgotten, standing tall and forlorn and useless among an ocean of bones. She saw oceans fade to salt and vapor, saw mountains shrink down to pebbles under the torment of years, saw lightning arc across an alien sky to illuminate a wasteland devoid of all but sand and nightmares. She saw a pair of twin suns dim and die, allowing the cold, apathetic void to rush in and smother away all light, freezing the planets that had sheltered within the warmth of yesterday. She saw the same with another star, then another and another. Again and again, faster and faster, until all the lights of the universe were blinking out like overloaded illuminators bursting from their sockets. Darkness swept across the galaxy, across all of creation, until the Force itself, light and dark together, gave one last trembling gasp… and died.

She felt Mnggal, felt the entire mass of the infected host, trembling with a macabre, vulgar, almost orgasmic delight at the sights laid out before them. She imagined countless rolling eyes and slavering maws and gnashing teeth, positively _aching_ to be set loose from their bonds to make this abominable vision a very achievable reality.

 _Soon_ , she could hear them groaning and sighing. _Soon. Very soon._

She resisted this chorus, trying to rip herself away from the moaning masses. But like a singular fish swimming against the school, such defiance only served to draw attention to her. And when the invisible gaze of the Sickness fell upon her, the ensuing visions swamped her mind with their strength and rapidity. She cringed away as they overwhelmed her with a great hissing cloud of insidious white noise, but was unable to drive them from her mind. She could not shut her eyes to this, could not turn away and hide herself away like she would with the horrors of the waking world.

She saw great acrid clouds of smoke pouring from the shabby, crooked towers of Keldabe as blazing fires burned openly in windows and on street corners. She saw the massive mythosaur skull spotlight that looked out over the city's tallest point flicker, go black, and then shatter with a great rending _crack_ that echoed over the deserted streets.

She saw two women kneeling before an empty throne of glass, heads bowed as the light was caught, shimmering and sparkling, in the throne's translucent depths. There was a mournful, ominous air to the image, a feeling of the end of one bloody era and the beginning of another.

She saw Mia Omotao let out a whimper of despair, legs going weak as she reached for her husband. Rame caught her as she fell, clinging tight to her as tears streaked his own face. Mia's tortured features morphed into others: Janada screaming in agony, Lesianne with cold tears running down cold cheeks, a bloodied Denton pleading desperately with words she could neither hear nor understand.

She saw a young man with tousled blond hair, his gaunt face pinched with equal parts rage and misery, holding an upturned green-gray Mandalorian helmet in his hands. With a shout of rage, he threw the helmet into the air and stormed away, tattered shoulder cape flattering in the sluggish wind.

She saw Darth Draco locked in battle. His enemy: a tall, vengeful man in tattered robes, muscular arms straining as he shoved against battle-locked lightsabers. Draco's own armor was marked and marred with numerous livid burns and his death's-head helmet was warped and damaged, his breath coming in a harsh and wounded wheeze — this duel would be one to the death.

She saw Vhetin silhouetted against the setting sun, on his knees before a mound of earth that could only be a fresh grave. His back was hunched, his shoulders trembling with effort as he wept openly into hands clenched over his mouth to stifle his sobs.

She saw the world around her darken as a glowing star was obstructed by something incomprehensibly huge and dark and cold. It drifted, obscuring all light until the sun was nothing but a blazing ring framing its awful blackness. Terror swept through the populace of the tiny planet thrown into the great _thing's_ shadow. Then there was a flash of sickly green and everything was screams and an awful, overpowering silence.

It didn't take a genius to tell that this was the future; she could feel it in her gut like a stony weight pressing upon her insides. They were glimpses only, snapshots of things that may or may not come to pass, yet by some strange law were simultaneously unavoidable. Mnggal was there throughout it all, hissing in her hear to look close, to drink her fill of this gift. The Force, with which the Sickness was intimately familiar, was fleeting in its favor and was most often loath to part with the secrets of its great unknowable plan.

She felt Mnggal's insistence for her to look her fill, to see once and for all that there was nothing in her future but death and destruction and misery. Even if she escaped him here, she would never truly be free. This station and its undead overlord would haunt her steps wherever she went. Better to give up and spare herself from such pain.

But there was one more vision, and she could sense Mnggal's surprise at its unveiling as surely as she felt her own.

She saw two figures — a man and a woman, both in Mandalorian armor — with their backs turned, huddled over something she could not pick out from the shadows. They turned, revealing identical dark blue eyes, framed by hair of an identical chestnut brown; the man's was cut short while the woman's fell in a shimmering curtain of curls down her back. They fixed her with wide, identical smiles full of life and humor, free from any trace of hurt or malice. They were clearly twins, and they were very clearly the key to her salvation.

Her addled mind desperately snatched hold of this image, holding onto it as long as she could manage. Who were these two? They were important, she knew that. They were the only light in this torrent of darkness. They were the only light revealed to her, her only reference point to swim up and out of these horrible depths. They were _everything_.

Mnggal had not intended for her to see this image. It was snatched away as swiftly as it had appeared, leaving her alone with only her shattered mind and the titan of nightmares. She felt it dragging her deeper with it, into a darkness she knew she would never escape.

But she had her lifesaver now, her shard of splintered driftwood to keep her afloat. The image of those smiling strangers, the unknown twins, gave her the strength to resist. She tore herself free of Mnggal's grasping tendrils and dragged herself across the unfathomable distance toward what she now knew was her escape from this labyrinth of nightmares. The Sickness grabbed at her with a cold fury, seeking to drag her back into its fold. It grasped for purchase with desperate, flailing motions, eager to yank her back unto itself for an eternity of torment.

She was not free. But she was now determined; if her fate was to die here, in the clutches of this eldritch abomination in the midnight sea of her mind, she would not be consumed without a fight.

* * *

When Vhetin turned the corner to the medical bays, he was surprised to find someone already waiting outside Jay's sealed observation room. Doctor Torch was standing just outside the transparisteel viewport, rubbing at his salt-and-pepper beard with a distracted, almost haunted look in his eyes. Monro was, as always, at his side.

"Doctor?" Vhetin took a step closer. "Can I help you?"

Torch glanced over at him, starting as if shaken from a deep and dark reverie. "Ah. The bounty hunter. Vhetin, I presume?"

"You can drop the act, doc," Vhetin said with a small, humorless smile. He gestured to the walls and ceiling. "No functioning cams in this area."

"Ah. Right." Torch shot him an almost identical dry smile, though he could not see Vhetin's expression through his helmet. "In that case, it's good to see you again, son."

He held out a hand, which Vhetin gladly shook. He might have had nothing but nightmares to remind him of his time with the Whiteclaw Project, but Doctor Torch and his assistant had always been among the few good people stationed at the Facility. He also nodded to Monro, who smiled in greeting, and stepped up next to them to follow their gaze into the medical bay beyond.

Jay was resting on a medical cot just beyond, dressed in a surprisingly pristine white gown with a respirator hooked across her nose and lips. Her chest rose and fell with gentle, calm regularity. An IV drip was currently administering a continual dose of the Blackwing antidote directly into her system, and he could see that the doctors had dressed and bandaged both her bite wounds.

It calmed Vhetin the slightest degree to see his partner in a better state than he'd left her. A little bit of color had returned to her skin and her veins, though still dark and clearly visible beneath her skin, were nowhere near the pulsating black of before. The doctors had even dressed her fragmented hand, though it still pained Vhetin to see the bandages stretched taut over the warped stump where her two smallest fingers should be.

Torch could clearly sense his unease. "My people inform me that she should recover from her wounds, given time. I've authorized them to outfit her with a rudimentary prosthesis for her hand. It's nothing fancy, but she should be able to regain control of that limb with a moderate amount of dexterity. It can be improved, of course, with time and superior equipment."

"And the virus?"

Torch grimaced silently, and Monro reported, "It's fighting back. Hard. The local personnel still aren't sure we managed to administer the antivirus in time. Some suggested medical euthanasia before she had a chance to turn, but I ordered them to belay such stupid orders."

Vhetin's relief, like his worry, was clear to see. He bowed his head to the two. "Thank you. That means a lot."

Torch shot him a strained smile. "I know how much she means to you. She was the one who…" the man lowered his voice. "She spearheaded the prison break on the Facility, correct? She was the one who rescued you?"

A single, terse nod from the Mandalorian.

"Then it is only fitting that the favor be returned now. I will do everything in my power to ensure you can remove her safely from this station."

Vhetin glanced over at Torch and Monro. "And what about you two? How are you holding up?"

Monro shot him another weary, tight-lipped smile while the older man rubbed at his tired eyes. The doctor sighed and said, "Better than I thought I would. Honestly, an outbreak of this scale was inevitable; the sheer number of contingency plans was a dead giveaway to that fact. But the scale of it all… the virulence of the virus…"

He shook his head. "I was prepared for an outbreak or a station-wide lockdown. I was even prepared for a full scale quarantine. But this isn't any of those things. This is… is—"

"Armageddon," Vhetin supplied.

The doctor shot him a dry smile and a short nod. "Exactly."

"What can you tell me about it?" Vhetin inquired. "How did the project change after I, ah… resigned my services?"

Torch let out a short, humorless huff of a laugh. "Nothing good. Lord Vader intervened personally. Promoted Doctor Kasiporo to lead researcher, reassigned Whiteclaw under military contingency orders, and took direct observational authority over all proceedings. He guided the Project himself, under direct orders from the Emperor."

Vhetin's skin crawled at bit at the revelation. He didn't usually like entangling himself with individuals of such high station above his own. Crossing paths with Darth Vader was bad enough. Sticking his nose in the Emperor's business was far, far above his pay grade.

"What about the virus itself?"

"There's not much that you don't already know," Monro supplied. "We augmented the Whiteclaw serum, strengthening its destructive symptoms in an attempt to weaponize our previous failures. And after Vader supplied the Murakami orchid, the results… changed."

"Tell me about this flower."

"Lord Vader has already revealed about everything we know: a rare bloom found almost exclusively within the expanses of the Unknown Regions. It's a highly Force-sensitive life form, and during the Old Republic was sought by Jedi for research and conservation."

Vhetin was about to ask why, but caught himself. It was rare to truly understand the workings of the now-extinct Order, and even if he could grasp the Jedi's fascination with Force-sensitive florae, it most likely wouldn't have any bearing in this situation.

"I rarely interacted with the orchid samples we were provided," Torch continued, "but on the rare occasions I did handle the flowers there was always something _off_ about them. They made me, ah… uncomfortable. And of course there were numerous instances of research personnel making odd complaints."

"Such as?"

Monro suppressed a shudder. "Reports of whispers no one else could hear. Objects moving on their own. The sensation of being watched. Some of the scientists started claiming the station was haunted."

Torch frowned. "Though I suppose it all makes sense now. It was all this Mnggal creature, trying to make its escape."

After Vhetin's earlier discussion with Vader, the Dark Lord had passed on all relevant information about the intelligence lurking behind the sickness. Everyone involved in efforts to cleanse the station were now up to speed, for what little that was worth. Armed with knowledge of the presence setting itself against them, all members of the team would now work more efficiently to defeat it.

At the mention of the entity's name, Monro shuddered openly. "I always knew the science division was up to more than Doctor Torch or I was authorized to see, but somehow this… it defies all logical belief."

"Worse than that." Torch glanced at Vhetin with a pained look on his face. "I'm a man of medicine, Vhetin. A man of _science_. And the realization that something like _that_ could exist in this galaxy… it's the stuff of nightmares."

"On that, we can agree."

Monro bit her lip. "Have you… ever encountered anything like this? You know, in your ah… travels?"

"Unfortunately," Cin muttered, "I haven't. I'm as creeped out and clueless as the rest of you. Bail jumpers, murderers, and Hutts I can handle; ancient Force-sensitive zombie gods are a little beyond my range of expertise."

He shrugged. "But I guess that's why we should be grateful Lord Vader is here to set things straight."

Torch shook his head. "I'm starting to worry he's the _only_ one with the power to survive this hellscape. And I doubt he'll be interested in getting the rest of us to safety with him."

"We'll pull through this," Vhetin said. He rested a hand on the doctor's shoulder. "We purge the station, burn these undead bastards out, and then we can all go home."

"Don't be naive," Torch said with a small scowl. "It doesn't suit you. We both know that even if we miraculously manage to purge the station and safely evacuate, it won't end here."

Vhetin had already assumed as much. As catastrophic a failure as this outbreak was, he knew the Empire would continue its research. If anything, this debacle had only proved Blackwing's effectiveness. The Emperor would be even more eager now to research it, refine it, and — in short order — begin testing it in earnest. Escaping the station was only the beginning of a very long, very dark journey.

Together, the trio watched Jay in her induced slumber for a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. Torch rubbed worriedly at his beard again and breathed, "To think… that it's crawling through her veins right now. She could be doing battle with it and we'd never be able to know."

"She's strong," Vhetin was assuring both the doctor and himself. "She'll pull through. I know she will."

He hesitated, then said, "But… if she doesn't — if she wakes up and it's not her anymore… I want to be the one. I _need_ to be the one. I made her a promise. And… and I want to be able to say goodbye, and—"

Torch cut him off. "I understand. You're leaving with the offensive team soon, correct?"

"Yes. With luck, this whole nightmare will soon be over."

"I'll do my best to keep you updated as to her status. And if she wakes up, I'll let her know you aren't far away."

"Thank you, Doctor."

He turned to shake the man's hand again, then thought better of it and instead drew him into a hug. Torch was surprised at first, until Vhetin clapped him on the back and said, "You've always been good to me, Torch. Better than you had any reason to be. Mandalorians don't forget such debts."

He stepped away and, after a moment's hesitation, stopped next to the door to Jay's sickroom. He half-glanced over his shoulder toward the two med-techs and began, "Is it all right if I…"

Monro nodded with a small smile. "She's as stable as we can manage, and my staff will be alerted the moment her condition changes for better or worse. Take your time."

He nodded in thanks, hesitated one more time, then keyed the opening stud and stepped into the room.

The first thing he noticed was the oppressive, overwhelming quiet. It wasn't silence, not quite. A heart monitor beeped quietly next to Jay's bed while a respirator hissed gently in time with the rise and fall of her chest. The hum of the station's life support systems throbbed with soft insistence beneath the panels of the floor, like a hidden heartbeat thrumming its clockwork beat against the soles of his feet.

But somehow, without the worried whispers of the Imperial staff or the haunted wails and screams of the infected, even these sounds seemed drowned out by the all-encompassing quiet that filled the room. It pressed in around him, suffocating him until he sighed loudly to break its spell. He noticed he was moving slowly, almost a creep, as he approached the bed.

She looked… so _small._ For as long as he'd known her, Jay had been so full of vigor and energy. Even those early days of their training together, when she'd been shy and reserved in the presence of the intimidating Mandalorians surrounding her, there had always been an inner resilience about her. She was a rock, utterly unmovable once she set her powerful will to task. She was far from physically imposing, but that strength of character, of intention, had made her a giant to his eyes. Even when all the odds were stacked against her, she stormed her way through to the other side with the stubbornness of a true Corellian, dragging him along with her more than a few times.

All that strength and power was all gone now. She was tiny and pale and so very weak, lying unconscious on the cot like some pallid princess caught under a spell. As Dr. Torch had promised, her mangled hand had been dressed, bandaged, and outfitted with a basic pair of prosthetic fingers, little more than gears, wires, and dull metal casings. Her eyes were still dark and sunken, her veins still dark under her too-pale skin, but she looked significantly better than when he'd left her last. The doctors had treated her wounds and bathed her, clearing all the grime, blood, vomit, and black sludge from her face and body. She looked peaceful for the first time since she'd been attacked, and that at least was a very small mercy.

He shook off his misgivings and forced himself into a more brisk pace before easing himself down into the visitor's seat next to the cot. His muscles ached in relief at the ability to finally sit down. As ever in these stressful, life-or-death scenarios, he'd quickly and wholly forgotten the needs of his own body. When fighting for his life and worrying for the life of his partner, it was easy to tune out how much his feet hurt, how his empty stomach gnawed away at his guts, or how much he desperately needed to use the 'fresher.

He let out another long, weary sigh and relaxed back against the chair, looking over at his partner lying limp on the bed next to him.

"Hey," he said quietly. His voice seemed too loud, echoing even within the tight confines of the medical bay. He pursed his lips, then reached out and moved to rest a hand on hers. He caught a glimpse of his gore- and grime-encrusted glove, so soaked through with dried muck that the stiff fingers crackled as he made a fist, then thought better of it and returned it to his lap.

"Glad to hear you're doing better," he said. "You… you had me worried there for a little bit."

She didn't wake. She didn't so much as twitch.

He hesitated, then moved before he could stop himself. He reached up, hooked his thumbs under the lip of his helmet, and pulled it off. The environment seal popped with a loud hiss of depressurizing air and the cold of the station swarmed inside, chilling his naked skin with surprising force. He pulled the bucket up over his head, rested it on the floor next to him, then leaned forward and rubbed hard at his tired eyes. He kept his eyes covered for a long time before sitting back with a weary sigh, staring down into his lap with shoulders hunched and hands clenched over his knee plates. When he looked over at Jay again, she was still asleep. Foolish of him to think that just by taking his helmet off, by flaunting the uncovered face she was so curious to see, he might somehow pull her back from the brink.

He watched her chest rise and fall with her steady breathing, a deep frown creasing his features as he tried to convince himself it was natural. That even if they turned off the respirator and all the other life support systems, she would continue breathing at that gentle pace. That when this was all over she would wake, fix him with that friendly amber-eyed gaze with its telltale glint of mischievous energy, and laugh with him over their close call as they had done so many times in the past.

That's what would happen. She would wake and they would laugh, he would give her hazard pay from his own pocket like he'd promised, and they'd both go back to Mandalore. Back home, away from all of this, where the screams and the nightmares couldn't reach them so long as the _Oyu'baat's_ doors were open and friendly faces were there to greet them.

"I, uh…" His voice shook and he stared down into his lap and pressed his hands together to stop their trembling. "I'm going to have to leave soon. We're making another push into the station. Hopefully the last one. When this is all over, we'll be able to call that Star Destroyer in to evac the wounded and the survivors. You'll be able to get the help you need. Hopefully enough help to kick this disease once and for all…"

His voice faltered and died away. He was suddenly overcome with the desire to _talk_ to someone. Not just Torch or the Imperials or even Kalyn. Someone close. Someone _real_. He wanted to dial out a comm call to Rame, to Janada, or Tamai. He wanted to explain everything to them, plead for help, and have them tell him what to do. He was tired of being in charge, tired of being expected to endure all of this, hold his head high, and trudge on through the screaming and the blood like it couldn't touch him.

He glanced over at Jay again. Most contracts, he _was_ untouchable. Jay had marveled at it in the past, even here on this station: his ability to retain his composure in even the harshest of situations, his talent for appearing steady no matter what the galaxy threw at him. Over the years, he'd built up a thick wall of professionalism that kept him separated from the adrenaline and the terror of his line of work. He was a bounty hunter, and bounty hunters did not falter no matter what came their way.

Not this time. This time, the blow had struck too close to home, shattered his defenses, and left him reeling and gasping for breath that suddenly would not come. He couldn't find his feet here, amid all the gore and the ghosts of Blackwing Station. He couldn't think beyond his worry, didn't even want to try. Right now, the station and its inhabitants didn't matter. The mission didn't matter. All that did matter, all that had ever really mattered in this crazy, kriffed-up profession, was wasting away on a pristine medical cot next to him.

 _If she…_ his mind refused even to finish the thought. _If I can't…_

He forced another deep breath, let it whoosh out of his lungs in a long exhale.

He needed to focus on facts, not speculation. The facts were simple: he _couldn't_ call Janada or Tamai. He couldn't cower away and let someone else take charge. He couldn't sit by and let his partner die while there was something — _anything_ — he could do to save her.

When he spoke again, his voice was stronger and clearer.

"I told you before," he began, "that once things settled down, I'd give you a crash course in Mandalorian death philosophy. Figure now is as good a time as any."

He settled back against the chair, absently watching the info feeds dance across the screens of the medical equipment on the other side of Jay's bed. It was a welcome distraction from the cold emptiness of the med bay.

"Almost every sentient species in the galaxy believes in a life after death," he said. "Mandos are no different. We believe that when you die, your spirit is taken away into a kind of collective existence called the _Manda_. Some interpret this as a kind of heaven, while others think the soul is absorbed into a weird, metaphysical super-consciousness, a unified state of being in which all Mandos of the past, present, and future, are one."

He scoffed. "I'll admit, I'm not sure I can wrap my head around it. Suffice to say that we believe when we die, we become a part of our own cultural identity. Like each of us contribute to the very idea of being a Mandalorian."

It felt good to talk. He could almost feel the tension draining away in favor of a deep-seated, unstoppable wave of exhaustion. That was good. He knew how to deal with that, at least.

He reached down and picked up his helmet again, turning it over in his hands and staring into the depths of that bottomless black T-visor. "We don't fear death. At least, that's what we tell ourselves. Because death is just another barrier standing between us and unity with our _vode_. When we die, we're not leaving the world of the living so much as joining all our brothers and sisters who've gotten there before us. _Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la._ Not gone, merely marching far away."

He sighed and let the bucket rest in his lap. "And then there's the idea of immortality. _True_ immortality, not the bullshit these doctors were trying to cook up. We believe that so long as we remember something, so long as we keep it in our hearts and minds, it remains with us. That's why so much of our history was in oral form before some poor _dikut_ had to put it all in writing: we passed on stories of people, of battles, of adventures, from father to son and mother to daughter so that, as a people, we would never forget."

There was a long silence in which he listened to the faint rasp of Jay's respirator. He watched her heart rate spike up and down with a solid rhythm on the wall-mounted display, half-convinced that it would fall flat if he took his eyes away for even a moment.

"Some philosophers say that people are so obsessed with the idea of immortality because so much of the universe is mortal. That everything eventually ends and that's what makes it so beautiful. That we live our fleeting lives and burn up like old candles, but for that brief moment when we burn, the light we shed makes the galaxy just a little bit brighter."

A scowl pulled at his features. "I say bullshit. Something isn't beautiful because it's fleeting. It's beautiful when it _lasts_. When it doesn't have to end. It _doesn't_ have to end, except when the Force or someone's stupid god decides it's time you've had enough happiness and snatches it away. It's beautiful when it endures, because when something is taken away, you aren't left feeling grateful that the little flickering light lasted as long as it did. You feel…"

 _Empty._ He couldn't say the word. _You feel empty and cold inside, like everything you are has been scooped out and tossed into the dirt_. _Like all the warmth in the world has suddenly frozen over, and all the flickering candles in the universe can't chase the darkness away because the one light you need is gone and it's never coming back._

It was a long time before he spoke again. When he did, his voice sounded flat and exhausted and weak; not the voice of Cin Vhetin the bounty hunter, but the voice of a hollow man trying to convince himself the world was still worth saving.

"That's why," he continued, "I hold on to the people I love. Why I won't let them slip away from me without a fight. If the universe is determined to take things away, I'm determined to hold on to them for as long as they last. And that's why I'm not going to lose you now."

The words strengthened his resolve. He knew what he had to do, knew why he had to do it. He had to walk back out into the darkness and the death and face it head-on, forging into the black heart of this station with his head held high. He would think and fight and, if need be, die like a _Mandalorian_ because that's what his partner needed him to be right now. Nothing less would do.

With a tired, muttered curse, he grabbed his helmet and settled it over his head again, flicking closed the environmental seals around the neck and pressurizing the suit against the poison lurking in the air outside this small haven. He scooped his pike back into his hands and hooked it to the magnetic clamps over his shoulder, anchoring it in place. His HUD booted up into tactical mode, bathing his vision with red light.

Prepped for the battle to come, he stood and looked down at his sick partner. Then he knelt next to the cot, reached out, and gently rested his forehead against hers.

"You need to come back, Jay," he murmured. "You need to come back to me. Because we're not done yet. We _can't_ be done yet. I won't let it end so soon."

Then he stood and left the room without another word. The door slid shut behind him, sealing the room against the horrors that waited beyond. He didn't glance over his shoulder once: he'd said what he needed, and she was beyond his care. This was where their paths diverged, and only fate would decide if they would merge again.

Her words from before echoed back to him, as if she was whispering them in his ear: _Nothing lasts forever_. She had been right. Everything had to end in time.

But just because it had to end didn't mean it had to end _today_.

* * *

It didn't take long to gather his gear for the final foray back into the station. He still had his gauntlet blades and his saber pike, which would be most of use to him in the zombie-crowded halls standing between him and the reactor core. He adjusted both gauntlets, testing the spring of the arm-mounted sabers as he ejected and retracted both. He then clamped the pike to the magnetic holds over his shoulder and booted up a diagnostic of the rest of his functioning weapon systems.

The flamethrower on his right arm was still fully operational, capable of spraying out a five-foot cone of hellfire at a moment's notice. He tuned the settings to maximum at the blink of an eye — the fire would burn hot enough to melt flesh from bone if applied long enough.

He also still carried the stun prods taped to each gauntlet, and he tested each with a clench of a fist. They sprayed out a shower of sparks, triggered by a signal from his helmet. The charge each staff carried could lay out a Gammorean, twitching and drooling, in a single hit.

He adjusted the sling across his chest, testing his grasp on the hilt of the _beskad_ over his shoulder. It was not as reliable as his pike, but if disarmed of his lightsabers the hefty metal sword could cleave meat from bone just as effectively. He drew the blade, inspected the edge and watched the lights dance across the dark alloy blade before returning it to its place.

Holstered on his belt behind his back were two hefty pistols, courtesy of Brianna's personal armory. BlasTech T-22s were clunky by modern standards, but a single charged tibanna bolt could rip a hole through an unarmored target's chest the size of a coin. He checked both, listening to the high-pitched whine of plasma-charged gas building in the chambers before moving on.

He hooked four thermal detonators to the clips of the sword belt slung across his chest. At the press of a button, the bombs could vaporize half a man's body and tear through even the thickest stormtrooper armor. Lobbed into a pack of infected, he could easily take out six or seven in a single blast — he'd tested them in battle already.

Holstered on each hip were Janada's personal brand of _kad'ika_ longdaggers, which he'd taken from Jay's stockpile after she'd been taken to the infirmary. The blades were polished to a glimmering silver, inscribed with ancient Mandalorian scripts for protection and luck in battle — a callback to the days when the mercenaries of Keldabe had believed in such nonsense.

Finally came his rifle: an angular GL-99 MandalMotors special, specifically designed, built, and marketed for bounty hunters. A single bolt from the heavy battle rifle could punch through an inch of durasteel plate, and this particular model fired in three-round bursts. He slapped the charging rod back and listened to the weapon come to life in his hands, buzzing as it fed charge into the plasma chamber. A status light warmed to red on its housing and he sighed down the weapon, watching as the internal systems linked up to his helmet's HUD and overlaid a targeting reticle on the holographic display. In a tight spot, he could hip-fire the weapon almost as accurately as when shouldered. Satisfied, he slung the rifle over his shoulder.

Finally, he picked up the oblong cylinder of his lightsaber, the hilt wrapped with leather and marred by the blood and grime of the long battles fought to reach this point. He thumbed the activation stud and watched the humming blue blade spring to life in front of him, painting the small room he'd commandeered in varying shades of deep sapphire.

This weapon, more than anything else, would be his salvation in the battle to come. With it, he could carve the infected to pieces with a swipe of his wrist. Forget fighting as fancifully as a Jedi or as powerfully as Vader; he'd hack and slash his way through the hordes like a Berserker if he had to.

He heard a rasping, hollow inhalation and knew Vader was standing in the doorway, watching him. He didn't bother to turn or to sheath the saber. He just inclined his head slightly toward the Dark Lord and hissed, "What do you want?"

"Your word."

Vhetin frowned and turned. Vader was standing just beyond the threshold, hands linked over his belt, watching him without motion. The station's ventilators tugged lazily at the hem of his cape, but he otherwise might have been carved from stone.

"What are you talking about?" Vhetin staid, still not deactivating the saber. He didn't trust Vader to not attack him, even now, and rid the Empire of a future enemy.

"Your people hold honor in esteem above all," Vader intoned. "When you make a promise, you are honor-bound to keep it."

"And you want me to promise you something?" Vhetin let out a harsh snort of a laugh. "Getting all sentimental on me?"

"Do not test my patience, bounty hunter," Vader said, a definite edge to his voice. "We both know that escaping this station guarantees nothing; not our survival, and not Mnggal's defeat. Even if Blackwing is contained here today, the research will continue. And even then, there are far more dangerous plans in motion."

Vhetin didn't like the ominous tone of those words, so he repeated, "What do you want?"

"Your compliance with the original goals of the Project," Vader said. "I want you to give the Blackwing scientists free access to blood and tissue samples. With such samples, the virus can be stabilized and the likelihood of such an outbreak will be effectively curtailed."

"Am I hearing you right?" Vhetin took a step toward the Dark Lord. His fingers were clenched so tight around the hilt of his saber that his hand was shaking, making the blade jitter in the air with a distinct buzz. "You want me to become a slave of these freak show? _Again_?"

"Hardly." Vader didn't so much as twitch in the face of the Mandalorian's indignation. "Samples will be taken and transfered to the appropriate hands. Then you and your partner, if she still lives, will be free to leave as you see fit."

Vhetin drew up short, his rage instantly turning to suspicion. He stared at Vader for a long time before saying, "You'd… you'd just let me go. After everything you've done to bring me in?"

"Recent events have made it abundantly clear," Vader said, "that capturing and containing you is more troublesome than originally anticipated. Your defiance costs the Project time and progress that cannot be spared. If you provide blood and tissue samples, the Empire's cloning technology will be more than enough to grant the Project the genetic material it needs."

Vhetin's lip curled in disgust. "You want to clone me? Make an army of Vhetins just jumping at the chance to help along your science project?"

"Do not flatter yourself. We have no interest in your mind or your body. The Project will clone only what is necessary: lungs, muscle tissue, stem cells, and the like."

The hunter narrowed his eyes behind the faceplate of his helmet. "And what would I get in return for this cooperation?"

"I am not without mercy," Vader said calmly. "If you comply, I will see to it personally that, in recognition of your service to the Empire, your longstanding criminal record is expunged. I will grant your partner the same courtesy. A clean slate for both of you."

"Why… why would you do this?"

"Because you and your partner, useful as you may be as fodder, are an annoyance. I could simply kill you both here and now. But I sense your potential in future service to the Empire. Such slaughter, while gratifying, would ultimately accomplish nothing."

Only now did he take a single measured step forward, into the room. Vhetin found himself taking an involuntary step back. Vader stopped just inside and rested his hands on his hips.

"And I believe," the Dark Lord intoned, "a quiet annoyance is better than a loud one. Do I make myself clear?"

It was as clear as day. Vader was giving him a choice: agree to help Blackwing and live free of Imperial scrutiny with a fresh start, or be killed right here by Vader's hand. Even so, Vhetin found himself conflicted. It wasn't like he was barely keeping ahead of Imperial enforcers as it was. So long as he steered clear of any _serious_ anti-Imperial operations…

But then he thought of Jay. How she'd been forced to adopt an entirely new identity to stay a step ahead of Imperial hunters. How she had to duck out of sight of stormtrooper patrols, even on Mandalore. How she couldn't so much as vidcall her family for fear of bringing the Empire down on their heads. She was a hunted woman, even so long after her escape from prison.

"And…" he paused, the words seeming to fight against him even as he spoke them. "And what guarantee do I have that you're telling the truth?"

"Grant me your word," Vader said simply, "and I will grant you mine. No more. No less."

He stood there for a long time, at war with himself. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he deactivated his lightsaber and clipped it back to its place on his belt. He screwed up his resolve, stepped toward the Dark Lord, and held out an open hand.

"You have a deal," he said.

Vader looked at the offered hand, but he did not shake it. Instead, he inclined his helmeted head with a distinctly smug air, then turned and left without another word.

* * *

Deep within the station, next to the smoldering ruins of a crashed and smoldering Imperial TIE fighter, a hunched figure twitched. Dry fabric, encrusted with smeared dirt and blood, rustled as the man moved. He twitched once, twice, then lurched like a drunk man stumbling from the bar. A slack-jawed face looked up into the darkness, rheumy and bloodshot eyes roaming around the hangar bay. The others were there, all huddled up with heads bowed and arms limp. The dead did not sleep, but when the Sickness had no use for them they shambled to halt, like clockwork toys winding down after play. Now they were beginning to stagger back to their jarring, jittery imitation of life.

The rustling of hundreds of limbs filled the hangar as more and more dead began to wake. They stretched elongated, rotting faces to the world around them, taking in their surroundings with all the dumb intelligence of sun-stroked banthas. Then, with a chorus of shuddering moans, groans, and hisses, they began to walk. They moved with short, thudding footsteps, one after another after another until the procession began to fan out across the hangar with a purpose guided by a malevolent unseen hand.

Spreading throughout the station more felt than seen, Mnggal drew up, gathered its children unto itself, and began to set its plans in motion.

* * *

 _Author's Note: It seems so common now as to have little to no meaning, but I once again have to apologize for the HUGE delay in posting a new chapter. Things have been very, very bad on my end for quite a while, and I just haven't had the time or energy to write anything. That's slowly changing and I'm working my hardest to get these new chapters out. Hopefully I'll be around more often in the near future, since writing seems to be the only thing that makes things a little better._

 _If you enjoyed, please feel free to drop a like or a review. I'd love to hear from you._


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